A Priestly Sum
by valshopaholic
Summary: Who switched the art in the warehouse? Will Neal finally choose a side? What's the real secret behind Neal's past?
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

_**A/N:** This story is a sequel to my previous fanfic "Chasing the Past" which was published in February 2011, just prior to the US airing of S2E15 "Powerplay". The following picks up the action from the Season 2 finale "Under the Radar". The primary White Collar characters are the creation of Jeff Eastin, creator and showrunner of the show. _

_The character of Stephanie Harper, for the benefit of readers who are not familiar with my previous stories (first created for "Chasing the Past"), is a self-made millionaire, and widow of someone from one of Manhattan's richest families. She is also the college sweetheart of Peter Burke and has been working secretly for the FBI White Collar Crime Division since college._

_There was no specific mention of timeframe in "Under the Radar" between when Neal, Peter and Alex were rescued from Adler's capture at the dry dock to when they actually located the warehouse where Adler had moved the treasures. Therefore the timeframes as described in the following chapters are just my assumption._

* * *

><p><strong>9am<strong>

The room was large but not well-lit given its size but that did not matter to the man, dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt and baseball cap, carrying the final painting inside. When the painting had been settled on top of one of the many crates he had spent the night moving, he straightened up. He took one last look at the treasure trove in the store room around him and smiled.

The man walked out, closed the door behind him and carefully locked it, then placed the spare key inside the small envelope and headed out into the daylight.

As he walked out, his phone rang. He took it out of his pocket, checked the caller ID and said, "It's done. Is Neal out of his apartment yet?"

Then he paused to listen to the voice on the other end for a few seconds before saying, "I'm on my way." The man hung up without saying anything further.

* * *

><p><strong>10am<strong>

Neal had skulked off angrily away from Peter, with Diana and Jones staring after him. Peter was still fuming, pacing up and down outside the still-burning warehouse. Diana and Jones looked away from the departing Neal and walked over to their boss.

"Peter, what's going on?" Jones asked.

"The art burning up in there is not Adler's U-boat treasure," Peter replied, pointing at the burning warehouse, still angry.

"What do you mean? What is it then?" Diana asked.

"It's Neal's art," Peter said.

"How do you know?" Jones asked.

"Because I have seen it in his apartment," Peter answered as he walked back towards the burning building to where Adler's body fell. Jones and Diana watched but did not follow. Peter bent down to pick up the burnt-out piece of Caffrey's painting of the Chrysler building.

Diana and Jones shared a puzzled look and promptly followed Peter as he walked back to his own car. Peter turned to his trusted subordinates and said, "Jones, stay here and work with NYFD and the bomb squad. I want a full report of whatever they find inside that warehouse. I want to know what triggered the explosion, what type of explosive was used, who had access to them and where they got it from. And when they're cleaned up I want forensics to run everything through whatever they can get from the debris."

Jones nodded.

Peter then addressed Diana, "Diana, I want you to go back to the office. Find out if there are any security cameras anywhere within a five-mile radius of here. Anything that might give us an idea of who's been in and around this area in the past 48 hours. And I want you to check the tracking data on Caffrey's anklet. I want to know his every move from this point forward."

"Do you want me to put a man outside June's house?" Diana asked.

"No. Not yet. Just keep monitoring his anklet. He'll spot our guys from a mile away. If he is responsible for what just happened here, he's not going to be making any stupid moves. Keep me updated."

"On it, Boss," Diana replied and she and Jones headed off to follow their orders.

Peter turned back for another look at the burning warehouse, black smoke filling the air around them. He wondered how long Neal had been lying to him. _"I've never lied to you, Peter, and I'm not lying to you now."_ That was what Neal had said to him, piercing him with his steel-blue eyes.

Peter got into his car and slammed the door hard, turned the ignition and started driving. He knew he needed to clear his head. He needed evidence and facts. He needed the truth. And he knew who might be able to provide some answers.

* * *

><p><strong>10am<strong>

"_He thinks I'm lying!" _Neal thought to himself as he stormed off from the pier. _"He just shot Adler and saved my life and then he accuses me of conning him? What is going on? What's just happened?"_

There were so many questions going through his mind. He didn't even know where to begin. He was still trying to comprehend that Adler was dead – shot and killed right in front of his eyes by his partner, and up until a few minutes ago, the man who he thought was also his friend.

His pace picked up the angrier and more confused he got. He needed to clear his head. He just kept walking aimlessly. He did not know where he was headed – he just knew he could not go back to the office to face Peter till he had calmed down. He had not even noticed the phone in his pocket had been ringing.

* * *

><p><strong>11am<strong>

Peter pulled up outside the Park Avenue building. The doorman, Ted, recognised him immediately even though he had only been here a handful of times during his first case working with Stephanie Harper.

"Good morning Mr. Preston," Ted said as he held the door open for Peter and followed him in, leading him to the Concierge desk. Stephanie Harper had introduced him as Peter Preston, a new business associate working for the Harper Foundation to avoid attracting attention to her own undercover and his FBI status.

"Good morning Ted. Is Mrs Harper home?"

"Yes, she is, sir. Barry will call her for you. Just call down when you are ready to leave and we will have your car at the front door when you are ready. Have a good day," Ted said and headed back to his post by the door.

"Nice to see you again Mr. Preston," Barry, the Concierge, greeted heartily.

"Hey Barry," Peter replied back, slightly distracted. "Could you please let Mrs Harper know I'm here to see her?"

"Already called her as soon as I saw your car pull up, sir. She said to go straight up," Barry said.

Peter was a little caught off-guard. This is New York efficiency. Lifestyles of the rich and powerful, where doormen and concierges remember you when they have only met you a few times and can anticipate your needs.

"Ok. Thanks," Peter managed to say and headed to the elevator. When he got inside, he pressed "PH" for Stephanie's penthouse apartment.

When the elevator doors opened again at the top floor, Peter stepped off then knocked on the door. Sofia, the Harpers' housekeeper, opened the door and let him in.

"Good morning Mr. Preston. Mrs Harper is out on the terrace. I'll let her know you're here," Sofia greeted.

"Thank you Sofia," Peter replied, following her through the front hall and into the living room.

Peter was pacing when Stephanie came back inside the apartment a few minutes later.

"You're going to wear out my carpet if you don't stop that," Stephanie said. She caught the look of frustration on his face and asked, "What happened at the pier, Peter? Did you find the right warehouse? Have you arrested Adler?"

"Not exactly," Peter answered, finally standing still to look at Stephanie.

"But you found him, right? What happened?"

"Neal happened."

"OK you need to sit down and tell me what's going on. I've been trying to call Neal for the last hour and he's not answering. Is he all right?"

"Oh, I'm sure Neal is more than all right. He's finally gotten away with what he wanted after all these years."

"Now you're really not making any sense, Peter. Reese told me you had worked out the location of the warehouse where you suspected Vincent had moved the U-boat treasures to. He was going to give me an update once Adler was in custody. You'd better explain to me what happened at the pier," Stephanie asked.

"Adler's dead," Peter said flatly.

Stephanie was taken aback by the news Peter just broke to her. He recounted the events leading up to his killing of Vincent Adler. At first, she did not speak. Her eyes softened as she turned away from Peter and walked to the window, staring out.

Peter watched her as silence hung heavily in the air. After about a minute, she turned around and faced Peter again, head held high, eyes suddenly turned cold, and said, "So you killed him."

"He would have killed Neal," Peter explained, almost defensively.

"You did what you had to. You did what I should have done in the Rainbow Room when I had the chance," Stephanie said flatly.

Finally Stephanie walked back towards Peter, her demeanour suddenly turned business-like. "So what did you mean about Neal getting what he wanted?"

"There was art in the warehouse that went up in flames all right, only it wasn't from the U-boat. It was Neal's. He must have found out where Adler was hiding the treasures and moved them before we got there, replaced them with his forgeries, then rigged the explosives to go off so we'd all think the art went up in smoke."

"Now you need to prove it," Stephanie said.

Peter frowned slightly at what Stephanie said. It was a statement, not a question. "You sound like Caffrey," Peter said, recalling Neal's angry last words to him at the pier.

Stephanie offered a slight smile. "Peter, I know you. You have great instincts but you would never act without proof. You're accusing a man who is your friend, perhaps your best friend, of somehow stealing billions of dollars worth of treasures. On top of everything else that's happened lately, that's got to be messing with your head right now."

Peter did not say anything.

Stephanie sighed in resignation, knowing that Peter was still uneasy, and asked, "How do you think I can help?"

"I know you and Neal have been getting close the last few months that we've been working together. Has he said anything to you? Anything that might lead you to think he had more than just revenge on his mind if he ever found Adler again?" Peter asked.

"You think Neal would tell me if he was planning the con of the century? I think you may be over-stating our relationship a little, Peter," Stephanie said.

"You knew Adler better than anyone else. If Neal was going to confide in anyone about Adler, it'd be you."

"I don't know what to tell you, Peter. Neal has never spoken to me about trying to steal this treasure. He didn't even know what Vincent was after till he saw the U-boat with you two days ago. How would he have had time to even plan a heist of that magnitude in a couple of days?"

Peter put his hands on his hips and started pacing again.

Stephanie walked over closer to Peter, placed a hand on his arm and said, "I think you are angry and upset about what just transpired at the pier. You just killed a man, Peter. I think you need to go home, talk to Elizabeth, let the adrenaline slow down so you can think more clearly. Then we talk."

* * *

><p><strong>6pm<strong>

Neal felt as if he had been walking for hours, and he had. It was dusk by the time he finally found himself back home. As he opened the door to his apartment, tired and worn, he saw something on the corner of his dining table. He hurried towards it, picked up the key laying on top of a small envelope. He quickly opened it and found a type-written note card inside:

77850 GANESVOORT ST

UNIT A

NEW YORK, NY

YOU'LL THANK ME

Neal picked up his jacket and headed out into the night.

* * *

><p><strong>6pm<strong>

Peter headed straight for Diana's desk when he stepped off the elevator on the 21st floor of the FBI Building and walked into the bullpen. He stood behind Diana's chair and looked over her shoulder at her computer screen. "What have you got for me Diana?"

"There's nothing unusual at all with Caffrey's tracking data since we put the anklet back on him two days ago after the dry dock, Boss. He left with Sara from here to a bar uptown, then he went to your house and then he went back home. He came to the office yesterday and was with us all day till he left for dinner with Stephanie Harper at 6.30pm. It looks like he spent the night with her because he didn't move again until this morning when he came here to meet us and we went to the pier together. If he is responsible for the theft then he must have had a crew of people doing the heavy lifting for him."

"Where has he been since he left the pier?" Peter asked.

"Well, he seems to be wandering. He headed midtown, then through Central Park and now it looks like he is heading home," Diana replied.

"Has he stopped anywhere?" Peter asked.

"Not that I can tell. There was a period of about 10 minutes when he stopped off at 30 Rock but I think that was at the coffee cart, long enough to maybe just grab a coffee, but that's pretty much it. He's just been walking and walking," Diana answered, turned to look at Peter.

"What about security cameras at the pier? Any luck there?" Peter asked.

"Jones is still trying to get access to their footage. Apparently their systems had a meltdown this morning, may have something to do with the explosion. Until they can get their systems back up, we won't have anything more," Diana replied.

Peter was still frowning. His head was starting to hurt from the events of the last few hours.

"Do you want me to see if I can find any traffic cams or CCTVs along the route that he took to see if he was with anyone?" Diana asked, noticing her boss' dissatisfaction at the report she just gave.

"No. Not yet. Neal is too smart to try to move anything now if he did switch the treasure for his paintings. Keep monitoring his movements and let me know if he goes anywhere unusual or stays anywhere for longer than 15 minutes," Peter instructed. He looked over to Jones' unoccupied desk then asked Diana, "Has Jones been back?"

"He came back a couple of hours ago and then headed out again. He said something about meeting with Captain Shattuck?"

"OK. Ask him to come up to my office when he gets back."

"Will do, Boss," Diana replied.

Peter headed up the stairs. Hughes called out from his office, "Peter!" and gestured with his two middle fingers at Peter to go into his office.

Peter stepped inside. Hughes pointed at the chair opposite him for Peter to sit.

"You think Caffrey is responsible for the mess at the pier?" Hughes asked.

"I want to believe he DIDN'T have anything to do with it, but honestly Reese, I don't know how else to explain it. I don't even know where to begin writing up the report on this," Peter admitted.

"Have Jones and Barrigan write the report. Until we get the bomb squad and crime scene report from NYFD, I need you to look at another case that's just come up."

Peter looked at Hughes with curiosity. "Something more important than the missing multi-billion dollar treasure?"

"That loot has been missing for over 60 years. It can wait a little longer while we gather evidence. You can question Caffrey later," Hughes replied. "In the meantime, I need you to have a look at this," Hughes said as he handed a file across the desk to Peter, "and I need you to work with Stephanie Harper on this one."

Peter hesitated slightly, "Stephanie?"

"We've had complaints about a charity being run by a church in Manhattan that is supposed to be supporting the construction of orphanages and clinics in Indo China in partnership with its sister churches in the area, but so far there's nothing to show for the millions of dollars that have allegedly been raised. The Director was at a function with a couple of the charity's biggest donors a few nights ago and this subject came up. The Director thought there was something about what they told him that smelt bad and asked us to look into it ASAP. I've had Blake pull together some background for you to start with."

Peter flipped through the contents of the file he just received, then looked up at Hughes and asked, "Does Stephanie know about this yet?"

"I just got off the phone with her. Agent Blake is on his way to delivering the file to her. I need you and Stephanie to look this over and let me know if there is anything to justify an investigation. If so, I need you two to work out a plan and get to the bottom of this before it becomes front page news," Hughes said, then looked back down at the pile of paperwork in front of him, dismissing Peter.

Peter got up and headed for his own office to call Stephanie Harper. He wondered if he had any painkillers in his drawer strong enough to ease the pain that had been throbbing in his head for the past hour.

* * *

><p><strong>6.30pm<strong>

Neal inserted the key into the lock and walked into the store room. As his eyes adjusted to the dimly-lit room, he slowly realised what was in front of his eyes. He looked all around him – did a 360 degree turn to take in his surroundings. Still, he could not believe it was all for real. He closed his eyes, convinced he was just dreaming; that the events of the day had finally caused his brain to play tricks on him.

When he opened his eyes again, nothing had changed and suddenly it seemed like déjà vu, the same feelings he had when he first climbed down into the U-boat with Peter and saw the paintings, the jewellery, the sculptures and all the Nazi plunder that Adler had craved and killed for – everything laid bare in front of him.

Neal finally allowed himself to smile. His brain was slowly catching up to his eyes and beginning to process what he was looking at. He had no idea how long he had been standing there for, smiling like that, staring in semi-disbelief. He had so many questions going through his mind simultaneously he did not even know where to begin.

The vibration in his pocket finally broke Neal out of his reverie. He took the phone out of his pants pocket without looking at the caller ID. He did not want to take his eyes off the prize in front of him. Instinctively, Neal held the phone to his ear but still was not able to speak.

"Hello? Neal? Are you there?" It was Sara.

"Yeah," Neal finally spoke.

"Where are you? I've been trying to call you all day," Sara said.

"Um, I'm out," Neal replied ambiguously.

"Out where?" Sara insisted.

"Walking," Neal answered.

"On your own?"

"Yeah, I'm on my own. Listen, Sara, I don't know if you heard, but I had a pretty traumatic day today, so I just needed to walk and clear my head," Neal tried to explain to get Sara off the phone.

"Yes, I heard about Adler and the explosion. That's why I've been trying to call you. I wanted to make sure you were OK," Sara added.

"I'm OK, thanks for asking, but you really don't need to worry about me. I've been walking for hours. I'm not even sure where exactly I am right now," Neal lied, "so I'm going to try and find my way home and get some rest and start over tomorrow with a clear head."

"Oh, OK. Well, let me know if you or Peter need me to help with anything," Sara said.

"I will. Good night, Sara."

"Good night."

When Neal hung up, he saw that he had 23 missed calls and 5 voicemail messages. The missed calls were from Stephanie, Mozzie, Alex, Sara and June. He did not bother to listen to any of the voicemail messages. Instead, he made a call.

"Hi, it's me," Neal said into the phone. "How soon can you meet me at my place?" He paused for a response, then added, "See you then," and hung up.

Neal took one last long look at the contents of the store room before finally turning away to leave. He made sure to lock the door and carefully placed the key back in the envelope and into his pants pocket and left.

Neal walked briskly out onto the street, quickly checking his surroundings as he did so to make sure he had not been followed.

Neal had not noticed the tiny surveillance camera that had been hidden behind the vents in the storage room. The feed was being transmitted to the computer screen at Stephanie Harper's office at Harper Group Headquarters. She turned the computer off when she was satisfied that Neal was not going to turn back. In any case, the feed was being recorded via secure encryption and an alarm would be triggered by any movement inside that room and an alert sent to her Blackberry should anyone enter that room.

Her phone rang just then.

"Hello Peter," Stephanie greeted as she noticed the caller ID. "Reese told me to expect your call."

"Can we meet in my office in half an hour?" Peter asked.

Stephanie looked at her watch. It was 6.45pm. "I have a few things I need to wrap up at the office first. I have a feeling we're going to be working on the new case a lot in the next few days. Can we meet at 9?"

"Fine," Peter said. "I'll order some food, too. I think it's gonna be a long night."

"Great. See you at 9," Stephanie replied and disconnected the call. She spent an hour going through the file that had been dropped off by agent Blake earlier to familiarise herself with the facts of the new case she was going to be working on. When it was time, she picked up her bag with some files, walked out of her office. Her assistant was still at her desk.

"Maree, reschedule all my appointments for the rest of the week will you? I'll be working from home."

"No problem Mrs Harper. Have a good night," Maree replied.

"You too," Stephanie said as she headed out for her meeting.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

* * *

><p><strong>7.30pm<strong>

Jones went straight up to Peter's office. Peter looked up from his papers, leant back into his chair and asked, "What does the bomb squad say?"

"From what they could tell, the explosives were triggered remotely so it was no coincidence they went off when they did," Jones replied. "They need to do more forensics but they think the detonator couldn't have been more than a mile away from the site when it was triggered."

"So the person who triggered it was right there with us…"

"Most likely," Jones said, and added, "Peter, you really think Caffrey is responsible for this?"

"For his sake, I hope not because if I find out it was him, I will have him locked up for the term of his natural life!" Peter replied, still angry. "What about the art inside the warehouse? What have you been able to recover?" Peter continued.

"The explosives did a pretty good job of wiping out anything identifiable so we're just looking at fragments of artworks but forensics should be able to at least identify types of paint or canvases used, and we can find their origins from there but I wouldn't hold out any hopes for any identifiable human fibres or prints inside. The fire department did a pretty good job of putting out the fire and washing out all that," Jones replied.

"How long will Forensics take for a preliminary report?" Peter asked.

"They know this is top priority right now. I'm about to head back to the lab to follow up," Jones said.

"Still no luck on the security cameras at the pier?" Peter asked.

"They're still trying to recover their systems," Jones replied.

"OK. I want an update every two hours, no matter where I am or what I'm doing," Peter directed.

"Yes, Boss," and Jones left Peter to his thoughts.

* * *

><p><strong>7.45pm<strong>

Neal had deliberately woven his way through town for a while after leaving the storage facility in an attempt to throw the Feds and the Marshals off his tracks. He knew he would have to come up with an explanation as to his movements if Peter and the Harvard Crew were to check his tracking data, as he was sure they would. He did not want to appear to be lingering in any particular area.

When it was approaching his meeting time, he returned to June's house and was about to head directly up the stairs to his room when June came out from the den.

"June! I didn't know you were getting back today? How was Monte Carlo? Is Cindy ever going to come back?" Neal greeted, smiling broadly.

"Neal, what is going on? Sara's been here looking for you, then Alex came by and left in a hurry when I said you weren't here!" June asked with great concern on her face and in her voice.

"Everything's going to be all right, June," Neal tried to calm June down, although his own nerves were still tightly wound and running on adrenaline. "I'll explain later," he added and started to head up the stairs.

"He's not here," June said. Neal stopped in his tracks and walked back towards June. "He said to meet him at the Diner? He said you'd know what he meant."

Neal smiled. "Thanks, June. So I'll be at the Diner if anyone's looking for me," he said and headed out the door again.

* * *

><p><strong>8pm<strong>

Stephanie walked into the Museum of Modern Art, strolled through the museum store in the lobby before heading out to the Sculpture Garden. She strolled slowly amongst the sculptures. A few minutes later, she was joined by a man in a sports jacket, jeans, and despite it being evening, a baseball cap.

"He's seen the score?" the man asked.

"Like a kid let loose in a candy store," Stephanie replied without looking at the man.

"What do you think he's going to do?" the man asked.

"I don't know. I don't think he's quite registered what he's got yet," Stephanie said.

"You think he's going to tell the G-men?"

"No. It's not time yet."

"They think he did it?" the man continued.

"I'm sure he's on the top of the list, or maybe he _**is**_ the list," Stephanie said. "What now?"

"Now we wait," the man replied.

"Look after him," she added.

"Like always," the man replied and headed back inside the museum.

Stephanie remained in the Sculpture Garden until she heard the MoMA closing announcement, then she left with the other evening visitors and headed to the FBI Building for her meeting with Peter.

* * *

><p><strong>8.05pm<strong>

Neal strolled casually into the Pierre Hotel and walked up to the reception desk.

"Good evening, sir," the man at the desk greeted.

"Good evening," Neal reciprocated. "Can you check if there are any messages for Steve Tabernacle?"

"Oh, yes, there is. Just a moment, Mr Tabernacle," the receptionist said and turned around to the rows of pigeonholes behind him and found the envelope that had been left for Neal.

"There you go, sir," the receptionist said as he handed over the envelope to Neal.

"Thank you," Neal said. He opened the envelope quickly. Inside was a note containing a single word written in a familiar hand: **STEAM.** He put the envelope into the inside pocket of his jacket and headed to the elevators. When he stepped onto the elevator, he took the envelope out again, took the key card out and inserted it into the security slot to let him up to the pool deckonly open to hotel guests.

Neal walked towards the gym, grabbed a towel and went into the men's change room. He quickly toed off his shoes and socks, then took off his suit and shirt, carefully hanging them all up. The blinking green light on his tracking anklet reminded him he could not linger here longer than he needed to. He wrapped the towel around his slim waist and headed to the steam room.

Neal opened the door, sat down on the bench and closed his eyes. He had not realised how much his head was hurting until then. Before long, Neal's skin was a shiny sheen of sweat as he tried to clear his mind. A minute later, the door opened again. He did not open his eyes to see who had come in.

"You took your time getting here," Mozzie said.

Neal opened his eyes to see Mozzie covered up in a robe. He raised his eyebrows at Mozzie, "You were supposed to meet me at my apartment, Moz. Excuse me for taking a little longer to get here. I can't stay long or I'll have a lot of explaining to do."

Mozzie sat down next to Neal. "The Feds are all over the pier with the bomb squad looking into the explosion and I heard chatter that Adler's haul has disappeared."

"Wow, news sure travels fast," Neal commented. "What's the word on the street?"

"Some think the Feds took it and just burnt out an empty warehouse," Mozzie replied.

"One of your conspiracy theories, Moz?" Neal asked.

"Entirely plausible," Mozzie answered.

"What else?" Neal asked.

"What are you going to do with it?" Mozzie asked.

"How'd you know I've got it?" Neal asked, turning to look at Mozzie, whose glasses were completely fogged up but appeared to be barely breaking a sweat despite being covered up in the robe. Neal frowned at this at first, sweat dripping from his own brows, before letting out a deep sigh. Mozzie had a way of knowing things.

"I honestly don't know," he admitted. He paused, then let his excitement take hold and smiled broadly at Mozzie. "When we first talked about the long con on Adler 8 years ago, I never dreamed it would be this big! He spent his whole life looking for this! And Alex!"

"Neal, before you get too excited, you should reassess how and why the art is now in your possession, and who gave it to you," Mozzie advised.

Neal's excitement deflated at this reminder. He leant back and said, "I have _**access**_ but I'm not sure I have sole possession," Neal replied.

"My point exactly, mon frère. You don't know who else knows about it. It could be a trap."

"Or a test," Neal said.

"Or someone is looking out for you," Mozzie added.

"The crime is not the hard part," Neal said.

"The hard part is getting away with it," they said together.

* * *

><p><strong>9pm<strong>

At precisely 9pm, Stephanie Harper stepped off the elevator and into the FBI office of the White Collar Crime Division. Most agents had left for the day, with the exception of Diana and Agents Blake and Matthews. These were agents who were all aware of her "secret" life as an FBI agent. Blake and Matthews looked up and nodded towards her as she walked past in acknowledgement.

Stephanie stopped at Diana's desk. "Hi Diana," she said. "Is he still angry?" she asked as she nodded in the direction of Peter's office.

"All the agents are scared to go up to his office," Diana replied. "I've never seen him this angry before. He's pacing and talking to himself. That's when he's not yelling at someone." Diana spotted the basket of food Stephanie was carrying. "You brought food!"

"Yes. I assumed Peter will have forgotten his promise to feed me," Stephanie held out the basket with a smile. "And I figured you guys wouldn't have eaten yet either," she added, nodding over to Agents Blake and Matthews as well, who quickly approached Diana's desk to help themselves to some food.

"Has he spoken to Neal?" Stephanie asked Diana.

"No, not yet. He's not answering his cell but I've been tracking his movements from his anklet."

"And?" Stephanie asked.

"Nothing unusual…well, if you consider randomly wandering through town not unusual given the events of today," Diana replied.

"I haven't been able to reach him either so he's either dumped his phone or he just doesn't want to talk to any of us," Stephanie said.

"Peter hasn't asked us to bring him in yet, just to keep monitoring his movements for now. Can't wait to see how much madder Peter's gonna get when he does turn up."

"Well, I'd better go up before Peter gets even angrier at being kept waiting. If I don't come out before you leave, I want you to come up with your gun ready to rescue me!"

"Good luck!" Diana said with a slight smile.

Stephanie stepped into Peter's office. "I was promised food," she said with a smile in an attempt to cheer Peter up a little.

"What?" Peter asked, somewhat distracted. As he looked up at Stephanie, he suddenly remembered his promise to provide food. "Oh, I'm sorry! I can't even think straight right now. I don't know what Reese was thinking assigning me to a new case when I can't even find Caffrey with a monitoring device on him!"

Stephanie held out the basket of food she had hidden behind her back with a wide smile. "I knew you'd forget."

"Have I become predictable?" Peter asked, half-jokingly as he cleared some space on his desk for the food.

"Did you go home like I suggested earlier?" Stephanie asked as she started spreading out plates and containers of food for them to share.

"Yes, I went home. I walked the dog. I watered the plants. And when that didn't work, I went to the gym and beat the hell out of the punching bag to burn off some of this nervous energy. And the whole time, all I could think of was Caffrey, the explosion, the art and how he managed to pull it all off right under our noses!"

"Maybe he didn't do it?" Stephanie offered. "I thought the law requires us to assume a man's innocent until proven guilty?"

"Not when the man in question is a convicted felon," Peter replied as he grabbed a plate.

"Look, if you're not going to be able to concentrate on the new case, let me talk to Reese. He might listen to me. Honestly, I'd worked for the last 15yrs on my own on cases like this one, there really was no need to involve you," Stephanie said.

"You don't want to work with me?" Peter asked as he took a bite.

"You clearly have a lot on your mind," Stephanie explained.

Peter finally leant back in his chair, let out a deep breath and said, "No. Hughes is right. That stuff had been missing for decades and we have other cases we need to look at. Besides, as you said, until I can find enough evidence against Neal, I have to assume he's innocent, but I'm damned sure going to be watching him like a hawk in case he does anything stupid. I've got a good mind to request the Marshals tighten his radius from two miles down to one."

"If you're going to do that you might as well put a leash on him like Satchmo," Stephanie suggested with a smile.

"My life would be simpler if he was!"

"Does Satchmo always obey your orders?" Stephanie asked.

"Rarely," Peter said, resigned.

"Anyway, it'd be too boring if you didn't have Neal to keep you on your toes all the time," Stephanie laughed.

"Excitement is over-rated," Peter said flatly.

"I doubt that, Agent Burke, action man!" Stephanie teased. It brought a slight smile to Peter's face as he relaxed a little in her company.

"Look, let's not talk about Caffrey anymore. We have a new case to investigate. The fact that Hughes involved you means you must know some of these people?" Peter asked.

"I'd only heard of this charity recently when one of my clients told me a few weeks ago he'd been approached to make a donation. We were talking about tax write-offs and he said his accountant had heard about an organisation called Creating Hope which is building orphanages and medical facilities in Vietnam, Cambodia and Laos. He suggested my client donate a quarter of a million to save the kids, good old fashioned Catholic guilt trip if ever there was one," Stephanie said.

"I had a look at the background info on Creating Hope that Blake put together. The bio said it was set up by the new parish priest at St Andrew's on Madison, Fr Shawn Kerrigan, who had come back from working as a missionary over there about 9 months ago. He was apparently so touched by the kids who had been handicapped or orphaned as a result of landmines or other diseases, he vowed he would do everything he could to raise money to help these kids when he came back to the States," Peter said.

"Right. I didn't give it much thought when I first heard about them. There are plenty of missionaries and other charitable organisations connected to different international church and other religious groups. The people who invest with my company are among some of the richest people in New York so a few hundred thousand here and there for them is nothing. An extra zero is just pocket change to them. But when Reese told me about this case, I had a look through my clients list to see if any of my associates had similar experiences with their clients. I found at least a dozen others who had noted something about Creating Hope, ranging from $50,000 to $1million," Stephanie said as she took a file out of her handbag and passed a list of names across the desk to Peter.

Peter glanced down the list of names. "Some of these are heads of Fortune 500 companies," he commented. "These people are no fools, Stevie. How did this Fr Shawn come out of nowhere and manage to convince these millionaires to part with their money?"

"Some of these guys have trophy wives eager to look like they're making a mark on the charitable circle, you know, buying their way into God's good graces, not to mention getting their photos taken at every important social event. Then you have others who literally have an annual budget to spread their money across the charity-of-the-month to get them into the papers to make them seem less heartless," Stephanie explained.

"And this is the world you chose to live in?" Peter asked.

"I don't have a trophy wife but I don't mind putting on a party dress and going dancing every now and then," Stephanie said, smiling.

"OK so we have a reasonable idea of some of the donors," Peter continued, trying to change the subject back to the case at hand. "I had Blake give me a run-down on Fr Shawn's recent travels and communications with these so-called sister churches Creating Hope is allegedly partnered with. It looks like the good Father has seen more of the TSA agents at JFK than he's seen of the pulpit in the last three months. He's been travelling to Indo China almost every second week. And the bank statements for Creating Hope seem to indicate a lot of small transactions going out since it was set up."

"So it's possible Fr Shawn is defrauding his parishoners through Creating Hope," Stephanie said. "Surprised the banks haven't alerted the authorities already with the types of suspicious transactions going through?"

"Looks like they had flagged it but I don't think they dug deep enough into where all the money was going," Peter said as he continued flipping through pages of bank records Agent Blake had given him. "I'll have Matthews and Blake trace all these receiving accounts to see how far this web reaches."

"Great. Get them to do background checks on these sister parishes Fr Shawn is meeting with when he goes overseas as well. I'd be happier if we're not looking at creating any international incidents over this case and the less we have to deal with other agencies the happier we'd all be, especially if I am to continue to keep my being an FBI agent a secret," Stephanie said.

"Couldn't agree more," Peter replied. "What do you know about Fr Shawn?"

"I've never met him but Peter Preston and I have a lunch date with the Bishop tomorrow at Montebello," Stephanie said.

"We do?"

"I told him the Harper Foundation wants to support the Church more actively, especially after all the counsel and support I received from the Bishop in the days and weeks following the untimely death of my late husband," Stephanie explained. "And, of course, you, Associate Director of the Harper Foundation, would be accompanying me to this meeting."

"Well, I hope you're buying," Peter smiled.

* * *

><p><strong>11.30pm<strong>

The bullpen was empty. Stephanie had just gone to the kitchen to refill her coffee cup for the third time when the elevator doors opened. It was Jones. "Clinton," she greeted. "What are you doing back here at this hour?"

"I promised Peter an update as soon as I got some preliminary results from forensics," Jones replied. "I assumed he'd still be here."

"You know him well," she replied. "We were just wrapping up. He's in his office."

"Thanks," Jones said and went up the stairs to Peter's office, taking two steps at a time.

Jones and Peter talked animatedly while Stephanie watched from below. She checked the time and took out her BlackBerry. There had been a few emails but no activity at the storage facility. She checked her voicemails. There was one from Neal sent an hour earlier: _"Hey Stephanie, it's me, Neal. Look, I'm sorry I haven't returned your calls and I missed our dinner date but I'm sure you've heard by now a lot has happened today. I promise I'll make it up to you. See you soon. 'Bye."_ She wondered where he had been since he left the store room.

Jones and Peter had stopped their discussion. Jones came down the stairs and headed to one of the rooms at the back. She went back upstairs to Peter's office. "Everything all right?" she asked.

"I want to talk to Caffrey now," he replied, looking angry again.

"I got a voicemail from him about an hour ago. I mustn't have heard my phone ring when we were talking before. He just said he'd see me soon but didn't say where he was."

Just then, the elevator doors opened again. They both walked out of Peter's office and watched as Neal strolled through the doors and looked up at them – two very different faces looking back at him: one who had a look of anger and betrayal, the other with a look of concern.

* * *

><p><strong>2am<strong>

Stephanie watched on from outside the interrogation room where Jones and Peter had locked themselves in with Neal, who was strapped to a polygraph machine. Peter had asked her to go home but she had insisted on staying. He finally gave up and allowed her to stay on the condition that she remained outside. They had been in there for hours. The fatigue was starting to take its toll on the men but Peter would not relent. He continued questioning Neal while Jones monitored the read-outs from the polygraph. At times he would pace around the table and other times he would sit and stare into Neal's eyes, as if he could see into the former conman's soul.

"Did you steal the art?" Peter had asked, in ten different ways.

"No," was always the answer Neal gave.

"Do you know who did?" Peter would continue to push, staring angrily into Neal's blue eyes.

"No," again would come the reply from Neal, returning Peter's stare. Unlike Peter, Neal just looked tired, and more tellingly, disappointed at being accused by his best friend of lying.

"_It's all in Neal's eyes_," Stephanie wanted to tell Peter, _"he wants answers as much as you do", _but this was not her interrogation and she knew that Neal would have to work doubly hard to earn Peter's trust again.

Finally, Peter stormed out of the room, leaving Jones and Neal alone. He was frustrated and put his hands on his hips, then ran his hands through his hair and started pacing around Stephanie.

"You have to stop this, Peter," Stephanie finally said. "You've been grilling him for nearly three hours. His answers have not changed. He may be a good conman and a good liar and if he is **that** good, you can safely assume he's not going to change his answer even if you kept this up for another ten hours. If you really believe he stole the art, cuffing him to a polygraph is not going to cut it."

Peter stopped his pacing, looked at Stephanie and let out a deep exhale. He put his hands into his pockets and said, "You're right. I'll have to catch him in the act. Sooner or later, even the best conmen make mistakes."

Peter went back into the interrogation room, unhooked Neal from the polygraph, and said, "We're done for the night." He then bent over so he could be at eye level with Neal and added, "This is **not** the end of the investigation. I swear to God, Neal, if you did this, nothing and nobody will save you – not our partnership, not our friendship. I will send you to prison and you will never see the outside of the prison walls again."

Peter walked out without saying anything further. He walked straight past Stephanie and headed back to his office, leaving Jones, Neal and Stephanie staring after him.

Jones started to pack up the equipment while Neal stood up and stretched.

"Do you think I did it?" Neal asked Jones.

Jones stopped packing and said, "It doesn't matter what I think, Neal. You've been working with us for two years and Peter trusted you. He shot and killed a man for you today. If you did do it, then you should get as far away from here as possible and never look back. And you'd better do a damn good job of disappearing because you know Peter would never give up looking for you. But if you didn't do it, then you still have a long way to go to repair this relationship if you want to stay and serve out the rest of your sentence on this side of the Supermax. And you'd better start now."

Jones resumed packing. Neal stood watching for a minute, then walked out. Stephanie was standing at the door holding his jacket and hat. "Come on. I'm taking you home."

_**~ End of Day 0 ~**_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>_

_"Day 0" is what I consider to be the same day as the explosion at the warehouse_

_I have never been to the famed Pierre Hotel in NYC, therefore, any details of the layout are purely of my own creation._

_St Andrew's is purely my creation. I have no idea if there is a church on Madison Ave, or if so, what it is called._

_The idea of a case involving priests originated from a comment Jeff Eastin once made that in early focus groups, participants thought a show called White Collar would be about priests _


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

* * *

><p>It was not even 7.00am and Peter was already dressed and guzzling down his second cup of coffee with his cereal when Elizabeth came down the stairs of the Burke home, wearing one of Peter's shirts. She saw a pillow and blanket on the couch as Satchmo came up to her. She bent over and petted him.<p>

Peter was hunched over the table reading some papers on the table in front of him, and every few seconds would check his BlackBerry. He did not even notice Elizabeth had come up behind him until she hugged him and kissed the top of his head.

"You slept on the couch last night," Elizabeth said to her husband as she sat at the table next to him.

"I didn't want to wake you," Peter replied, looking up at his wife, then returned to checking his phone.

"Honey, stop it," Elizabeth said.

"What?" Peter asked distractedly.

Elizabeth took the phone from her husband's hand, wrapped his hand in both of hers and looked deep into his eyes. "You're checking that thing every five seconds as if you're going to miss something. You look like you hardly slept at all. I know things were crazy yesterday but if you don't rest, you will never be able to see clearly what you need to see to get you the answers you need."

Peter let out a sigh. "You're right. I know you're right. I just kept replaying everything that happened in the last couple of days over and over in my head, wondering if I missed anything. Then I'd flash back to every moment I can remember with Neal, trying to work out when he turned against us, and that only raised more questions. What if he was never **for** us this whole time? What if he **is **that good a conman and has been conning us all along?"

"And by 'us' you really mean 'you'," Elizabeth said. Peter frowned. "Honey, it doesn't take a genius to see you feel betrayed by Neal, and you're jumping to judgement before you even have any proof that he's done anything wrong."

"Why does everyone keep saying that?" Peter sighed again.

"What? That you need proof? Because you know it's true. You've never stopped chasing him, even with a tracking anklet, you're still chasing him. Maybe it's time to stop?" Elizabeth said as she got up to go to the kitchen to pour herself a cup of coffee.

"I know him better than anyone else, El. He said his father was a dirty cop and he grew up convinced he was the same as his old man. I'd hoped that with all the good work we'd done together and the cases we'd closed, that he'd see the good inside of him. But just as I thought we were on the same side, something like this happens. Something definitely smells fishy."

"Whatever happened to that leap of faith you promised to take?" Elizabeth asked when she returned from the kitchen.

"Without faith there can be no truth, right? I know he'd rather be Byron than Ford but if he doesn't find his own 'June', the Ford route might just be too much of a temptation for him."

"Do you think there's anything serious going on between Stephanie and Neal?"

"She said I'm overstating their relationship," Peter replied.

"And what does he say about it?"

"I haven't asked. I thought he'd finally be ready to let go of Kate once we found out who was responsible for her death. He seems to care about Stephanie and listens to her. She's been a great influence on him," Peter observed.

"So what's the problem?"

"Well, first, she's an FBI agent – I'm not even sure if I should be reporting this to Hughes. But biggest hurdle for them: they've both had so many secrets and lived so many lies out of necessity, I'm afraid they wouldn't recognise the truth if it hit them in the face," Peter said.

"Well, they're both adults. They'll figure it out," Elizabeth said. "How do **you** feel about them seeing each other?"

"What do you mean?"

"Honey, Stephanie was your girlfriend. You would have married her if the FBI hadn't got to her first. And Neal is your best friend…"

"That's debatable right now," Peter interrupted.

"Nevertheless, he **is** as good as your best friend and your partner," Elizabeth said.

Peter took a deep breath and paused before replying, "Honestly, when she first turned up again after more than 15 years, it was awkward. I mean, I knew she had married Ryan Harper and built an empire. I always knew she was capable of those things. But life had moved on for both of us. I'd married you, a decision I have **never** regretted for a single second of my life," Elizabeth smiled and touched her husband's hand at this, "and I love our life together. I have no regrets about that either. I thought she was happy. But when I found out this big secret she'd been holding on to for so long, it made me sad that she'd really been so alone for so long. She didn't have anyone who was **her** best friend like you are mine."

"And Neal?" Elizabeth asked.

"If anyone could give him the comfortable and exciting life he loves, Stephanie could…"

"I sense there's a 'but' in there," Elizabeth said.

"But there's something Mozzie once said to me. He said that they don't do it for the money. They do it for the freedom to do what they want to do instead of living by anyone's rules. So if Neal is interested in Stephanie, it won't be her money or the lifestyle she can offer him that he's after."

"That's a good thing, isn't it?" Elizabeth asked.

"Yeah, but they don't really have much else in common, so I have to think there's something more that I'm not seeing here."

"Honey, you're over-thinking this too much," Elizabeth advised. "Besides, it's early days yet. Like I said, they'll figure it out, one way or another."

"You're right…let the pieces fall where they fall."

Elizabeth sipped on her coffee and picked up one of the maps that Peter was studying earlier. Changing the subject, she asked, "Do you think the missing art is in Vietnam?"

"No, that's for a new case Reese got me working on with Stephanie," Peter explained.

"Oh?" Elizabeth asked. "I thought the Bureau was trying to keep her true identity a secret?"

"We are, and normally I guess she'd have been doing this on her own, or with Ryan, but I guess Hughes felt she needed some backup now that Ryan's gone," Peter explained.

"Well, I'm glad you're there to help her, Hon. She's been through a lot. And it will take your mind off this obsession over Neal and the stolen art," Elizabeth said. "What's the case about?"

"It started out as some wealthy New Yorkers worrying their donations to a charity may not be going where they should be. But looking at some background checks, it could be bigger than that. There's a chance this could end up being a major fraud case," Peter explained.

"What's the charity?" Elizabeth asked.

"It's called Creating Hope. It's backed by St Andrew's on Madison. Stephanie has arranged for us to meet with the Bishop for lunch at Montebello today to see what we can find out before we report back to Hughes whether we have a case or not."

"Well, if nothing else, at least you'll get a nice meal, right?" Elizabeth said.

"Yeah, there's that," Peter smiled.

* * *

><p>When Neal woke up he was not sure if the previous day had all been a dream. The left side of his bed was empty but clearly had been slept in. He rubbed his eyes before getting up, grabbing the robe from the end of the bed as he did so. He could not see Stephanie but could hear her setting the table on the terrace. Her clothes were strewn on the floor in a trail from the door to his bed. His own pants lay in a messy pile on top of his tie and suit jacket beside his slippers, discarded just a few short hours before. He picked up the pants, reached into the right-hand pocket to make sure the envelope with the key to the storage room was still inside. Once satisfied it was indeed where it should be, he put on his slippers and headed towards the terrace doors.<p>

When Neal walked out, he saw that Stephanie was wearing his shirt. Neither of them had had much sleep after she drove him home from the FBI office. She had not planned to spend the night but he had needed her after the grilling he received from Peter.

"We need to call the police. Someone snuck in and stole my shirt and underwear while I was sleeping!" Neal said jokingly.

Stephanie looked up at the sound of Neal's voice, walked over towards him and greeted him with a smile and a kiss. "I'll give you back the shirt if you take that robe off," she said cheekily tugging at the loose belt on his robe.

"Good morning," Neal said. "You made breakfast already?" Neal asked, pointing at the fully-laid table on the terrace.

"Not me," Stephanie admitted. "Cindy brought us breakfast. She said June figured we'd want to eat up here instead of with them downstairs."

"Cindy's back?" Neal asked. "I didn't even hear her knock."

"You were out like a light. She came back from Monte Carlo with June yesterday. I guess with everything that went on, she probably didn't have time to tell you."

"Hmm, wonder why she came back so early? I thought she still had another six weeks in Europe," Neal wondered out loud.

"Maybe she missed you and your hat flips," Stephanie teased.

"Yeah, I'm sure my wearing her grandfather's old clothes makes me really attractive," Neal laughed.

"Well, plenty of women like older men," Stephanie said.

"I'm hoping you're not one of them," Neal grabbed her by the waist, pulled her in close and planted another kiss on her lips.

"I could be persuaded otherwise," Stephanie laughed. "And right now, I'm wearing your shirt, which I guess was Byron's shirt…so I hope Cindy doesn't get any ideas!"

Neal laughed. "I'm glad to see you're in a happier mood this morning," she added as Neal let go of her.

"I understand Peter has a lot of questions. So do I. He may not trust me but he's kept a lot of things from me before, too, and I can't afford to make him any madder at me while I figure things out. I don't want him to tighten my leash any more than it already is."

"Yeah, he told me he wanted to drop your zone to one mile radius yesterday," Stephanie replied.

"**One mile**?" Neal said. "He might as well chain me to his wrist!"

"Hmm, that might make it a little awkward when I want to visit…" Stephanie trailed off.

They sat down at the table and were digging into the croissants and Italian coffee that Cindy had brought up.

"Did you know the French love to eat their croissants with melted chocolate in the middle?" Neal asked.

"As a matter of fact, I did know that but thanks for telling me, show-off!" Stephanie laughed again.

After the intensity of the previous day, in fact, the past few days, Neal felt good to be in a lighter mood and joking with Stephanie.

"What are you doing today? Wanna play hooky with me?" Neal asked as he took a bite into the croissant.

"As much as you know how much I love that idea, I can't. I have to go home first and change. I can't very well turn up to a meeting wearing your shirt," she smiled, "then Peter is picking me up to have lunch with the Bishop."

"You and Peter are lunching with the Bishop?" Neal looked at her with surprise.

"Hughes assigned us to a new case yesterday involving a church-run charity. That's what Peter and I were talking about when you walked into the office last night."

"Will I be working on it?" Neal asked.

"We don't even know if there is a genuine case yet. We're just talking to the Bishop for now. Peter is going undercover as Peter Preston, Associate Director of the Harper Foundation. We'll report back to Hughes this afternoon and come up with a plan if we think there's enough to proceed with for an investigation." Stephanie took a sip of coffee, and said, "Could you pass me another croissant, please? I'm famished! You always give me a big appetite," Stephanie winked.

Neal smiled.

* * *

><p>"Are you ready for this?" Peter asked, slightly nervous for Stephanie. The two of them had arrived at Montebello Restaurant ten minutes earlier than their appointed lunch date with Bishop David Cavallieri. Being a well-known and powerful figure in Manhattan, Stephanie had no trouble requesting a private table at the back of the restaurant for this meeting.<p>

"Relax, Peter, I've done this before," Stephanie gave a reassuring smile to Peter. "I'm not a rookie, you know," she reminded him.

"I'm sorry. I guess I still pinch myself every now and then to remind myself that you've been working for the FBI all these years," Peter said.

"I think it's cute you're still looking out for me," Stephanie teased.

"Yeah, well, it's a terrible habit of mine," Peter smiled back.

Julie, the restaurant hostess, led Bishop David to their table.

The Bishop gave Stephanie a wide smile as he approached the table. He leant down towards her, gave her a peck on the cheek and said, "Hello, Stephanie! I'm glad to see you looking so well!" he greeted.

"Thank you, Bishop. I am feeling good. And how have you been?" Stephanie returned the greetings.

"Oh, you know, same old, same old. Always busy saving souls and all!" the Bishop joked.

Stephanie pointed to Peter, who had stood up from his seat, "Bishop David, I'd like you to meet Peter Preston, Associate Director of the Harper Foundation."

The two men shook hands and sat down.

The three exchanged pleasantries and small talk before ordering.

"So, I understand you're interested in donating to Creating Hope?" Bishop David asked Stephanie.

"Yes, David, but I don't know too much about it. A few of my investors told me it could be a good charity to back for the Harper Foundation. I believe Fr Shawn Kerrigan from St Andrew's is the man behind this charity but I don't know him so I was hoping you could give us an introduction," Stephanie answered.

"Well, I don't know too much about Shawn either," the Bishop replied, addressing both Stephanie and Peter. "I believe he spent the first few years of his service in various parishes in Chicago, then moved to Detroit before heading overseas to do some missionary work. Came back a few months ago. St Andrew's was in need of a new parish priest after Fr Jacob passed away suddenly. It's a much larger parish than he'd be used to but we needed the help so we didn't have too many options."

"Did Fr Shawn spend all his time in Indo China?" Peter asked.

"Pretty much. He spent a few months in India initially but he got terribly sick so he had to leave. He was in Vietnam mostly," the Bishop explained. "From what I heard, he was well-loved over there and he was doing good work."

"So why did he come back?" Stephanie asked.

"Well, his mother passed away while he was overseas a year ago and he said he felt he needed to be back here with his family. He still has a younger sister who I believe is in college here in New York," Bishop David said.

Peter and Stephanie exchanged glances: _We need to look into this sister._

"Has any construction work started on any of the orphanages Fr Shawn is building yet?" Peter asked.

"Well, I'm not really sure about the details Mr Preston," Bishop David replied.

"Isn't the organisation supported by the Diocese?" Stephanie followed up.

"No. Shawn spoke to me about starting the charity before he did it and wanted to see if the Diocese would have any objections to keeping it independent. I said it was fine with me as long as it didn't interfere with his work with the parish. It's not unusual. We need to keep the books separate. Although we are all doing God's good work in different ways, as far as the government is concerned, this is all about the money when it comes to tax time."

Their first course had arrived and Peter asked, "Bishop, is it possible to arrange for a meeting for us with Fr Shawn? Given the amount of money the Harper Foundation is considering putting into this charity, I think we should get to know the founder first."

"No problem. I'll have someone from the office arrange that as soon as I get back and let you know."

* * *

><p>Peter was driving back to the FBI office with Stephanie. "So many alarm bells went off in my head during that lunch," he said.<p>

"There's something definitely not right. We need to dig deeper into Fr Shawn's background and family."

"I'll have the team look into his history and start talking to people in Chicago and Detroit to see what messages Shawn Kerrigan received from God to ask him to leave the country and join a mission."

"Such a cynic," Stephanie smiled.

* * *

><p>Neal was on the phone at his desk when Peter walked into the FBI office.<p>

"_Just tread carefully, Neal,"_ Stephanie said at the other end of the phone. Peter walked right past Neal without acknowledging him and headed straight to Diana's desk.

Neal's gaze followed Peter. "Thanks for the heads-up. I'll call you later," Neal said and hung up.

"Diana, I want you to do a background check on Shawn Kerrigan," Peter said.

"Who is he?" she asked.

"He's the new parish priest at St Andrew's and founder of a charity called Creating Hope. We're looking into possible fraudulent activities involving them," Peter replied.

"By a priest?" Diana asked.

"Priests are only human," Neal said, stepping up to join the conversation.

Peter turned to look at Neal, then turned back to Diana and further instructed, "Find out everything you can then get Jones and meet me in the conference room in an hour."

Peter turned to go up the stairs to his office. Neal looked at Diana quizzically. She shrugged the _Don't ask me_ look and turned to her computer to start searching the databases as Peter requested. Neal ran up the stairs after Peter two steps at a time.

"Are you going to ignore me forever?" Neal asked, putting on his best Neal Caffrey charm.

"Forever is a long time. I'm not sure I'll even live that long," Peter replied sarcastically, barely looking up and proceeded to unload some files from his briefcase and laid them out on his desk.

Neal took a chance and sat down in front of Peter's desk. When Peter didn't eject him from his office, he continued. "OK, Peter. I get that you're mad. You think I stole the art. I told you I didn't do it and I even told you with a polygraph strapped to my arm. I want answers as much as you do. Why can't we work together on this like we have on everything else?"

"Neal," Peter finally stopped and looked deep into Neal's eyes, "this is **not** a game. What I do is not a joke for you to mess around with to see how much you can get away with. I've had enough of your 'I may have bent the truth a little but I've never lied to you' BS. People have died. I shot and killed someone yesterday." Peter's voice was a mix of anger and resignation.

"I know. You saved my life yesterday, as you have many times before. I know you've got my back, Peter. Tell me how I can prove to you that I've got your back, too," Neal said, almost pleading. "I don't know what happened that turned you against me but tell me how I can get you to trust me again and I'll do it."

"Will you tell me who stole the art?" Peter asked.

"I would if I knew," Neal replied without hesitation.

Peter furrowed his brows, not quite willing to believe this. He paused, sunk back into his chair, steepled his fingers and considered this. He sat like that for about a minute, looking contemplatively at Neal till the CI began to worry Peter was going to pounce suddenly across the table. Finally, Peter said, "OK."

"OK?" Neal asked.

"I'm going to get to the bottom of this. You know I will," Peter said.

"Yes, I know you will," Neal agreed.

"I'm willing to put this aside for the moment while we work on this charity case, but I want you to be careful where and how you tread, Neal – I'm watching your every move," Peter warned.

"I know you are," Neal agreed again.

"Now get out of my office. I have things to do," Peter said.

Neal did not dare overstay his welcome and got up quickly to leave.

* * *

><p>Stephanie made another call after speaking to Neal when she got home from lunch with the Bishop.<p>

"It's me," she said.

"Does he suspect anything?" the voice on the other end asked.

"No. Everything is going according to plan so far but it's early days yet," Stephanie added.

"You think we will need to move it again?" the voice asked.

"Not yet but we need to be ready to act quickly if anyone starts getting close," Stephanie replied.

"Don't worry. I've got that covered," came the reply.

"Good. We need to keep our communications to a minimum for the next few days. I'll have the FBI around so unless you need to speak to me urgently we'll stick to our plan," Stephanie said.

"No problem. Later," the voice said.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

* * *

><p>Peter, Diana and Jones were gathered in the conference room, with Stephanie Harper on speakerphone. Her presence in the FBI office would draw too much attention. They were about to start when Peter got up and walked out of the room, yelled "Caffrey!" at Neal who was sitting at his desk down in the bullpen and gestured for him to join them in the conference room with the double finger-point.<p>

Neal looked up and was so eager to join the action he all but leapt out of his seat and ran up the stairs into the conference room with a big grin on his face.

"Sit!" Peter commanded.

Neal closed the door behind him and dutifully complied, still smiling at Peter.

"Wipe that stupid grin off your face Caffrey!" Peter ordered.

Neal complied again, but could not totally suppress his smile, happy to be crime-solving again. "Is Stephanie on the speakerphone?" he asked.

"Hello, Neal," Stephanie said.

"Hmm," Peter grunted disapprovingly before proceeding to update the team on the background of the case to date. When he was finished, he asked Diana to provide the background checks she had found on Fr Shawn Kerrigan.

"Can you see our feed, Stephanie?" Diana asked.

"Yep, it's coming up on my screen perfectly," Stephanie replied.

"This is Shawn Kerrigan, aged 32," Diana commenced, as she brought up a picture of Kerrigan from his parish website on the screen in the conference room. "He was born in Chicago and grew up in a rough neighbourhood. Eldest of two children. High school dropout. Got in trouble with the law in his younger years," Diana brought up on the screen a mug shot of Kerrigan from his prison files, "mostly for petty crimes until he was 19 when he was convicted for armed robbery with two other men from his neighbourhood. Served a three-year sentence. While in prison, Kerrigan claimed to have found God, got out on good behaviour. When he was released, he headed straight for the seminary where he was, according to his reports, a good student. Served in small parishes in Chicago and Detroit. Then he requested to be sent to a mission in India. He only lasted three months before he became ill and had to leave. When he recovered, he requested to be sent overseas again, this time to Vietnam."

"What do we know about his sister?" Peter asked.

"She's his half-sister. Jade Cussons, 21. She's currently an Honours student at Le Moyne College on full scholarship. Appears to be a top student and model citizen. She's got no criminal record, not even parking tickets. There's not much else on her," Jones replied.

"What do we know about the mother?" Stephanie asked over the speakerphone.

"Annie Cussons, 49. Had Shawn when she was 17. Got sent away by her parents when they found out she was pregnant. She was taken in by the Josephite Sisters, which was how she became Catholic. She raised Shawn on her own until she met Michael Cussons. She gave birth to their daughter and they married two months later. Everything was looking sweet until he was killed two years later in a drive-by shooting at the diner where he and Annie worked. Annie was not working that night. She never remarried. Not sure about any other relationships but essentially, she became a single mother of two, living on welfare and getting by on whatever job she could scrounge up," Jones summarised.

"The Bishop said Kerrigan's mother died recently which was why he wanted to come back to the US. She was only 49 – how did she die?" Peter asked.

"Well, this is where it gets interesting," Diana said. The screen changed to a series of crime scene photographs of a dead body lying on the floor of a small apartment. "She was found beaten to death in her apartment. At first glance it looked like a home burglary gone wrong but there didn't seem to be anything valuable missing. She didn't have much but they found some cash and cheap jewellery still in their not-so-secret hiding places. Chicago PD never found the killer but had a shortlist of suspects," she added and switched the screen to a copy of the police report.

"Joey Campollini? He's Chicago Mafia," Stephanie commented.

"Why would the Mafia want the mother of a priest dead?" Neal spoke for the first time.

"Not sure. We haven't been able to find a connection yet," Jones replied.

"Peter, have you heard back from the Bishop's office about a meeting with Kerrigan yet?" Stephanie asked.

"I got a message just before we started this meeting. How does 10 o'clock tomorrow morning sound? The good Father will see us after morning Mass," Peter replied.

"My diary's been cleared for the rest of the week so I can work on this case," Stephanie replied.

"Good," Peter said.

Peter then gave instructions to his team: "Diana, I want you to see if you can find out more about the sister without spooking her. Find out who she hangs out with, what extra curricular activities she's involved in, you know the usual. Jones, talk to Chicago PD and see what you can find about the Mafia connection. It may be retaliation for something Kerrigan has done. I want to know what it is."

"What do you want me to do?" Neal asked Peter. The room froze as they all looked at Peter.

"You?" Peter contemplated. "You will stay here and await further instructions."

Neal opened his mouth to protest, "But…"

"But nothing, Caffrey. You're benched until I find something for you to do that won't get you into trouble," Peter said to Neal.

"I appreciate you looking out for me, Peter, but I can take care of myself," Neal protested.

Peter ignored him. "That'll be all. Come back to me with updates when you have something," Peter dismissed them. Jones and Diana exited and headed back to their desks.

"Stevie, I'll see you tonight at dinner," Peter said to Stephanie.

"I'll see you and Elizabeth at 8 and I'll bring the wine," Stephanie said. Peter disconnected the call.

Neal was still hovering at the door, "You're benching me? What happened to giving me another chance?"

"Not everything is about you, Neal. I just don't have a job requiring your areas of expertise on this case right now," Peter replied as he inched past Neal to leave the room.

"So you and your wife are having dinner with your ex-girlfriend tonight? That's either brave or stupid," Neal followed Peter back to his office.

"They've met many times before and are getting along fine. I'm sorry if we're getting in the way of your date," Peter teased.

"We're not dating," Neal said.

"Oh?" Peter raised his eyebrows at Neal. "What would you call your relationship then?"

Neal opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it and closed his mouth again without uttering a word.

Peter smiled and said, "I thought so."

* * *

><p>Mozzie was waiting for him when Neal arrived home, sipping wine on the couch and holding the mystery note card that had been left for Neal with the address of the store room now containing the stolen art.<p>

"Any luck on the typewriter that came from?" Neal asked as he joined his friend on the couch.

"As you would expect, typewriters are a dying breed. This particular one appears to be from a 1922 Woodstock No.5," Mozzie said.

"1922?" Neal asked.

"Yes, so as you'd expect, there would not be many left in the world."

"I would imagine it wouldn't be easy to find ribbon for such a typewriter," Neal observed.

"Correct, and that is a good and bad thing. It means suppliers are fewer and therefore should be easier to find out who might have purchased said ribbon recently. The bad news is that if the typewriter was purchased new or not from an antiques store, it would be virtually impossible to track down who might own such a typewriter."

"So, I take it this means you haven't been able to track down the owner of this particular typewriter?"

"Neal, you only gave me this last night. I've had less than 24 hours to work on this. There aren't exactly many typewriter experts in our circle and I couldn't go flashing this card around town," Mozzie half-protested.

Neal pondered this for a moment. "Great work, Moz."

"You know how I feel about that phrase," Mozzie protested further.

"I know, I know. This is your job now – to find out who stole the art," Neal replied. He got up and went to pour himself a glass of wine before rejoining Mozzie on the couch.

"And what of your relationship with the Suit?" Mozzie asked. "Does he still think you did it?"

"Yep, but maybe Stephanie softened him up a little. At least he wasn't yelling at me anymore," Neal said.

"Have you told her about this?"

"About the storage room?" Mozzie nodded. "No," Neal replied. "She didn't ask. We talked about how Adler pointed a gun at me and was about to pull the trigger when Peter shot him. I'd had so many things on my mind I hadn't even given much thought to how she must have felt knowing her former boyfriend killed the man she had a secret affair with."

"Do you think she knows anything about this and isn't telling you?" Mozzie asked.

Neal frowned at Mozzie's suggestion. Mozzie continued, "I mean, she appears out of nowhere and turns out she has all these connections to Peter, to Adler and now she's dating you…"

"We're **not** dating!" Neal interrupted.

"Whatever you want to call it, you're spending almost every night with her and let's not forget she's a **FED**, Neal. She's one of **them**. She can't be trusted," Mozzie said.

"She's more like us than you think," Neal said, thinking about the many stolen priceless masterpieces hidden in a secret room in her apartment, thanks to her late husband. Mozzie frowned at this statement, not comprehending its full meaning. "Besides, you don't think anyone can be trusted," Neal added.

"I trust you. I trust June, and Hale, and I trust Alex," Mozzie said.

"Our circle of people of unsavoury character," Neal said.

"You're either one of them, or one of us, and you, my friend, have spent way too long sitting on the fence already." Mozzie stood up and placed his empty glass in the sink in Neal's kitchenette and proceeded towards the door. As he opened the door to leave, he turned back to Neal and said: "You need to choose a side, Neal. You have billions of dollars worth of treasure within your grasp. You can choose to take it and run, or stay here and serve out the rest of your sentence with the Suit and be in servitude to him forever." With that, Neal was left alone.

* * *

><p>They had just finished dessert and Elizabeth was making coffee while Peter stacked the dishwasher. Stephanie watched them with admiration – they were so in sync that words were not necessary as Peter passed the cups to Elizabeth before she even asked for them. When they were done, the Burkes re-entered the dining room with three cups of coffee.<p>

"Here you go," Elizabeth said as she placed a cup in front of Stephanie with a smile.

"Thanks El," she replied. "I can't remember the last time I had such a great home-cooked meal."

"Aw, thanks Stephanie, but I doubt that!" Elizabeth said.

"I've mastered a lot of skills but cooking was never one of my strong points! I swear I was surviving on pizzas and Chinese take-outs all through college!" Stephanie said.

Elizabeth looked over to her husband for confirmation, to which Peter nodded. "It's true. She and her roommate, Karen, were always buying pizzas. I suggested they get part-time jobs at the local pizza place and get paid in pizza instead of cash."

They laughed. "I was almost tempted to buy out that pizza store when I made my first million!" Stephanie said. "Fortunately, Ryan stopped me. He only did that because he didn't like their pizzas but I said, '_Honey, once I own it, we can change the recipes and make better pizzas_!' but he wasn't convinced. He said to me, '_Why don't you build a new chain of pizza restaurants then?_' That was when I realised I didn't want to be in the restaurant business so out went that idea!"

"Shame, because I'm sure I could have used your restaurant to cater for some of the functions I have to organise!" Elizabeth said.

"Well, as my father used to say to me, just because you enjoy something doesn't mean you're any good at doing it! I would much rather do the eating than the preparing! So I think I'll stick with making money so I can afford to have someone else cook for me," Stephanie laughed.

Elizabeth looked over at her husband and waved a hand in front of Peter's face, "Hello? Earth to Peter Burke! I need a sign of life!"

"Huh?" Peter rejoined the conversation. "I'm sorry hon."

"You've been awfully quiet tonight, hon," Elizabeth said.

"I'm sorry. I've got a lot on my mind," he said.

"Is it the Kerrigan case?" Stephanie asked.

"No," Peter replied, half-heartedly.

"It's always Neal," Elizabeth said to Stephanie.

"Oh," she replied. "Have you got more from Forensics?"

"They've traced the type of explosives used to about a dozen possible suppliers but they're still narrowing it down to the exact batch so they can find out who bought it. As for the remnants of the art they manage to salvage at the warehouse, they found some paints that can be bought in every major art supplies store in the country so there is no way to tie it down to any individual, so the best hope we've got is on the explosives."

"But you already think the art was Neal's," Stephanie asked.

"I know what I saw, Stevie, and what I saw burning up at the warehouse was exactly what I had seen in Neal's apartment just a few days ago."

"Look, Peter, I'm not disputing that. But you need to consider who else might have known about Neal's stash of paintings to make the switch."

"You're right – I need proof," Peter said. "Look, let's deal with this Kerrigan case first."

"Has Diana found the sister?" Stephanie asked.

"Yeah but we didn't want to spook her and have her calling her brother to scare him off before we even have our chance to speak to him so we're just monitoring her for now."

"What about the Chicago Mob connection?"

"Jones found Kerrigan's Parole Officer. Turns out Fr Shawn developed quite a gambling habit which was what led to the armed robbery that landed him in prison. He may have found God while he was inside but God didn't show him any gold at the end of any rainbows when he came out. He was neck-deep in debt when he was arrested," Peter said.

"Did he borrow from the Mob?" Stephanie asked.

"Apparently so. There were rumours that he had stolen from the collection plates at his first couple of parishes in Chicago, and when he couldn't pay back the Chicago Mob, he requested to be transferred to Detroit. Old habits die hard and soon he was in trouble with the Detroit Mob as well."

"So you think that's why he wanted to be posted overseas – to escape the Mob?" Stephanie speculated.

"That'd be my guess, too. I'm sure the good Bishop knew at least some of this already but decided not to share it with us," Peter said.

"You can't blame him. He didn't know why we were asking, and as he said, his job is to save souls, and giving second chances is a job requirement in his line of work," Stephanie replied.

"Hmm, we'll see," Peter said.

* * *

><p>Peter and Stephanie waited at the back of St Andrew's church while Fr Shawn Kerrigan finished celebrating morning Mass. When the last of the parishioners had left the church and Fr Shawn walked back inside, they stepped up and introduced themselves.<p>

As they shook hands, a familiar person approached them, wearing an entirely unfamiliar outfit.

"Excuse me, you must be Fr Shawn Kerrigan," Neal greeted. Kerrigan, Peter and Stephanie all turned towards the door at being addressed.

Peter and Stephanie both stood there aghast at what they saw.

"Ah, you must be Fr Samuel Halls!" Kerrigan smiled as he held out his hand to Neal's.

Peter and Stephanie remained speechless as they stared at Neal dressed in a black suit with a white collar.

"Yes, sorry for the last minute appointment," Neal said in his usual charming tone as he shook the priest's hand.

"Oh, where are my manners?" Kerrigan said as he remembered his other visitors. "This is Mr Peter Preston from the Harper Foundation," he pointed at Peter.

"Good morning, Mr Preston!" Neal/Fr Samuel shook Peter's hand enthusiastically.

"And this is Mrs Stephanie Harper," Kerrigan continued the introductions.

"Ah, Mrs Harper! You're even more beautiful in person! The photos of you in the social pages certainly don't do you justice!" Neal took Stephanie's hand into both of his and smiled his most charming smile.

Stephanie tried to gather her thoughts quickly, "I didn't realise priests read the social pages?"

"How else would we find out who we might be seeing in the Confessional next?" Neal/Fr Samuel joked.

"Touché," Stephanie replied, giving Neal/Fr Samuel a slight smile.

Kerrigan addressed Peter and Stephanie: "I hope you don't mind but Fr Samuel has just returned from the Philippines and is interested in working with Creating Hope to do something similar for the orphans over there. Since you were also coming to speak to me about the same thing, I thought we might be able to talk together. My schedule is a bit tight today as I have meetings with some donors later this morning."

"Not a problem," Peter said begrudgingly.

"Great," Kerrigan said. "Let's go to my office and I can change out of my robes. Please follow me."

Kerrigan led the way, with Stephanie walking beside him. Peter glared at Neal and whispered "I'll deal with you later!" as they followed Kerrigan and Stephanie.

* * *

><p>Instead of returning to the FBI office, Peter and Neal were in Stephanie's kitchen, seated at the marble counter drinking coffee as they debriefed.<p>

"You're impersonating a priest. You're gonna go straight to Hell for this," Peter said to Neal.

"I thought you didn't believe in God anymore?" Neal retorted.

"I said I was a lapsed Catholic, not an Atheist. I still believe in God. And if He's watching you now, He's going to send you straight to Hell when you turn up at the Pearly Gates. Do not pass 'Go'. Do not collect $200."

Stephanie watched on with amusement and finally could no longer suppress her laugh and broke out in a fit of laughter.

The two men turned and looked at her.

"I'm sorry," Stephanie managed to say between giggles. "You're what we Catholic schoolgirls would call 'Fr What-a-waste'. I'm not sure I can ever kiss you again!" And she broke into more laughter.

"We can pretend we're role-playing," Neal teased. "I'm sure I can find a nun's habit for you somewhere!" Neal added.

Peter nearly spat out his coffee. "I don't need to hear this!" he said as he took his coffee and walked out of the kitchen.

Neal and Stephanie laughed even harder.

"OK OK. Enough of this," Stephanie said after a few more minutes of laughing with Neal. The two of them headed out to the living room to join Peter.

"Neal, what **were** **you** thinking turning up like that, barging in on our meeting?" Peter started.

"You guys looked like you needed my help," Neal offered simply. "Look, it's quite obvious you can't flash your badge or it'd give away Stephanie's FBI connection," Neal said to Peter. "And you can't go around asking the good Father if he's a crook trying to defraud rich folks," Neal said to Stephanie. "So I thought maybe I could play the part of the sympathetic man to get information from the inside!" Neal smiled triumphantly.

"Besides," Neal continued, "You'll be surprised how a $12 piece of plastic can get people to trust you!" and pointed at his collar.

Peter and Stephanie looked at each other, then back at Neal.

"What's your plan, Einstein?" Peter asked.

"I told him I had just returned from the Philippines and heard about the great work he was doing for the children and orphans of Indo China. I said I wanted to do something similar for the kids in the Philippines and wanted to learn from him. I've got a meeting this afternoon with Creating Hope's Chief Financial Officer, aka his numbers man, a guy called Dominic Mason, to learn about how to set up the financial side of things," Neal explained.

Stephanie looked at Peter, "Give him a chance, Peter," she urged. "Kerrigan will only show us the numbers he wants us to see as potential donors. He's never going to give us more for Harper Foundation's due diligence which you are supposedly conducting. We need to see their real books, or at least where they keep them."

Peter considered this. Finally, he said, "All right. But I want you to record all the conversations you're having with Kerrigan and this bean-counter of his."

"Do I get the 'Thunderball' pen again?" Neal asked excitedly.

"You'll come back to the office with me now," Peter said.

"Can I get the anklet off, too?" Neal tried his luck. Peter glared back at Neal intensely. "Ooookay…I guess that's a 'no' on the anklet."

"I told you I'm not letting you out of my sight. What makes you think I'd let you take off your anklet?" Peter asked.

"What if Kerrigan sees it, you know, when I'm sitting down? How would I explain that?" Neal tried again.

"Wear longer pants," Peter advised. He started heading towards the door and was picking up his trenchcoat.

Neal glanced over at Stephanie, who was slightly amused by the exchange. She shrugged at him and mouthed the words _"don't push it!"_ to him.

"Stevie, I'll call you later tonight after Caffrey has met with Kerrigan and the bean-counter to discuss next steps," Peter said. "And thanks for the coffee," he added as he turned to open the door to leave.

When he saw that Neal was not behind him, he yelled, "Neal! We're leaving!"

Neal sprang into action, grabbed his fedora and ran towards the door before remembering he had not said goodbye to Stephanie. He turned back around, ran over and gave her a quick kiss. "I'll call you later, Sister!"

"And take that collar off your neck!" Peter ordered.

"I know…I'm going to Hell. You already said that…" Neal said as the two men exited, leaving Stephanie standing alone in her living room, quietly smiling to herself.

* * *

><p>Stephanie was seated behind the desk at her office in the Harper Gallery. She was fast-forwarding the surveillance feeds from inside and outside the storage room where the stolen art now hid. Apart from passers-by outside the building where the storage room was, there had been no unusual traffic going nearby. Inside the storage room, she had surveillance footage of the same man who had moved the art there making random checks to ensure nothing had been moved since his last visit. He was also careful to ensure his face did not show up on the video. However, she knew who it was by the hand signal he always gave to the camera on each visit to verify his identity.<p>

The intercom on her desk rang, "Mrs Harper, your three o'clock appointment is here," Christine, the gallery receptionist announced.

"Thanks, Christine. Please show them in," Stephanie said.

"Of course, right away," came the reply.

Stephanie turned off the surveillance footage. A few moments later, Christine knocked on her door just before opening it. Stephanie quickly got up and walked over to her visitors.

"June! Cindy!" she greeted with open arms as she kissed each of the women on their cheeks in turn.

Christine left and closed the door behind her as the women settled themselves into the sofas in Stephanie's spacious office.

"We missed you at dinner last night," June said.

"I can't spend every night in Neal's apartment or he in mine without drawing attention to myself or to him," Stephanie replied.

"You know, you two remind me a little of Byron and me when we were young," June said.

"Running your cons and on the lam?" Stephanie laughed.

"Something like that," June laughed.

"I really don't want to think of Neal as Grandpa Byron," Cindy said.

"Oh, sweetheart, your grandpa was a very handsome man and quite a catch in his day!" June said.

Stephanie stopped laughing. "OK, let's change the subject before Cindy threatens to leave."

The mood in the room turned serious quickly.

"Has Neal said anything to you about the storage room?" Cindy asked.

"No. He hasn't even told me he's seen it but I can see how distracted he has been most of the time I've been with him," Stephanie replied. "All he told me was that someone who knew where he stored his art had switched it for the real deal in Adler's warehouse and set it on fire. He took a royal beating from Peter after the explosion. Peter strapped him to a lie detector and still doesn't believe that Neal had nothing to do with the switch."

"What do the Feds know so far?" June asked.

"They know how the explosives were detonated. They're still trying to trace the origins of the explosives and they're doing their damnedest to find the suppliers of the paints and canvases used for the art that went up in flames," Stephanie answered.

"We didn't expect there to be anything salvageable in the debris at all after the explosion but apparently Peter found something he recognised as Neal's work. If it wasn't for that, we wouldn't even need to be having this conversation right now," Stephanie added.

"They're not going to find anything useful from the paint and canvases," Cindy replied. "Neal was always buying his supplies from different places."

"They're not going to find anything on the explosives or the detonator either. We've made sure of that," June added.

"Have they found the movers yet?" Cindy asked.

"They're still waiting for the security company to recover their lost footage from the last few days of recording. Computers are a bitch when they shut down unexpectedly, don't you think?" Stephanie said with a smile.

The other two women nodded in agreement.

"What's Mozzie up to? I'm sure Neal's got him working on something," Stephanie asked.

"He's been trying to find the typewriter," June said. "He asked me if someone wanted to buy an old typewriter where they might go to get one and how long ink on a ribbon cartridge might last."

"I'm sure he's figured out the year and make of it by now," Stephanie said.

"He won't find the one that was used to type the note," Cindy added. "Our friend has made sure of that."

"How long are we going to keep this from Neal?" June asked.

"He's not ready for the truth yet," Stephanie replied.

"How will we know he's ready?" Cindy asked.

"When he trusts me enough to ask me," Stephanie replied.

"And will you tell him the whole truth?" June asked.

Stephanie paused to consider this, and finally said: "That'll depend on whether our friend is ready to show his face."****

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN_**: _The prospect of having Neal dressed up as a priest was just too good to pass up! :)  
><em>


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

* * *

><p>"Thanks for meeting me, Moz," Neal said as he met his friend two blocks away from St Andrew's church.<p>

"Did I miss the invitation to the costume party again?" Mozzie asked as he looked Neal up and down, dressed as Fr Samuel Halls.

"Stephanie liked it," Neal smiled.

The two men started walking to their appointment at St Andrew's. "What have you found out about Dominic Mason?" Neal asked.

"Ah, Dominic Mason, CPA. Married with two young kids. Wife is stay-at-home-mum. Runs his own tax practice in Queens. Outstanding mortgage $345,242 as of last month. Reported $65,486 last year as his income on his tax return," Mozzie reported.

Neal stopped walking and asked, "How did you know what he reported in his tax return?" then quickly added as Mozzie was about to explain, "Don't tell me. I don't want to know."

They started walking again. "Our friendly CPA isn't exactly raking it in. Makes me think he's not a very good accountant," Neal commented.

"Don't forget he has a hefty mortgage, too," Mozzie suggested.

"Has he missed any repayments?" Neal asked.

"Here and there but not enough to default and for the bank to foreclose on him yet," Mozzie replied.

"I don't imagine a CPA who files Chapter 11 would be in very high demand with clients," Neal said. "So why would the good Father Shawn appoint such a person to be Chief Financial Officer of an organisation handling millions of dollars?"

"Maybe he was looking for someone who would be so bad at the job he wouldn't miss a few million here and there when balancing the books?" Mozzie speculated.

Neal considered this. "Did Kerrigan know Mason before he came to this parish?"

"Not as far as I can tell. Mason's been in this parish for less than a year, joined just before Kerrigan was appointed parish priest," Mozzie said.

"But he doesn't even live in the area," Neal observed.

"Correct."

"Moz, we need some answers."

"I'm on it," Mozzie replied. Without breaking his stride, Mozzie left his friend's side and disappeared in the opposite direction while Neal continued on his way to meet with Kerrigan and Mason.

* * *

><p>Every pair of eyes followed Neal as he entered the bullpen back at the FBI office, still dressed as Fr Samuel Halls. Neal took off his fedora and flipped it onto his desk with a well-practiced wrist-flick as he strolled through the office, smiling as he walked.<p>

A wolf-whistle came from the far side of the floor.

"Excuse me, Father, are you taking Confession?" a voice called out from somewhere in the room.

"What kind of punishment do you think is appropriate for impure thoughts?" someone else called out.

Neal turned around and addressed the bullpen pretending to be serious, "God knows all and you're all going straight to Hell! Now get back to work!" and continued up the stairs to Peter's office.

When he reached Peter's door, he knocked. Peter looked up and pointed for Neal to sit.

Neal quickly took off his collar before Peter had a chance to lecture him again.

"Tell me what you found out about Kerrigan," Peter said.

"Oh our Fr Shawn is slick," Neal started, looking as if he was impressed by the crooked priest. "He has a fancy slideshow with pictures of beautiful but unfortunate children living amidst poverty, disease and various disabilities. Then he shows blueprints and three-dimensional virtual images of the orphanages and state-of-the-art medical facilities he proposes to build with the money he's raising. He showed a bunch of facts and figures with colourful graphs to indicate how the money was being spent."

"And how is the money being spent?" Peter asked.

"Well, this was where Creating Hope's CFO came in," Neal said.

"Dominic Mason," Peter chimed in.

"Yep. CPA-extraordinaire he isn't. He showed me a long list of companies that have been contracted to build these orphanages and clinics. There's got to be at least thirty different names on that list and none of them looked familiar," Neal replied as he handed over a copy of the list across the desk to Peter.

Peter quickly scanned the list, "I don't recognise any of these names either. They could all just be shell companies that don't really exist. I'll have Diana run background checks on these names."

"Have you found any connection between Kerrigan and Mason?" Neal asked.

"It looks like our numbers man isn't so good with numbers after all," Peter replied.

"How so?"

"When Jones ran his name across our database to check for criminal records, he found hospital records instead. These were from 15 months ago," Peter replied, turning a file around across his desk to show Neal. There were photos of Mason with stitches and bruises across his face.

"That would explain the limp," Neal said as he came across the photo of Mason with a leg in a cast. "What happened?"

"Looks like Mr Mason, CPA, has a gambling problem, just like Kerrigan."

"Did they meet at Gamblers' Anonymous?" Neal asked.

"We think so but can't be sure. GA won't reveal names, of course," Peter replied.

"OK, so assuming that's how they met, who's the brains behind this charity idea? Neither of them struck me as a particularly bright enough spark to be able to come up with the plan and set up all these fake companies, assuming that's what they are, and funnel the money through them," Neal thought out loud.

"I agree. You think they both owe the same Mob guys money and this is somehow orchestrated by the Mafia?" Peter asked.

"I think the murder of Kerrigan's mother was meant to serve as a lethal warning as to what might happen to him if he did not do what they want," Neal said.

"Which means his sister may be on their watchlist if Kerrigan was to make a wrong move," Peter went on.

"How deep do you think Mason is in on this then?" Neal asked.

"I don't know but we need to find out more about this guy and we need to catch them in the act," Peter said.

"But if Campollini and the Chicago Mob are the real deal behind these companies then catching Kerrigan is only going to send him back to prison and embarrass the church while the real criminals are going to just find some other poor sucker to carry on the dirty work," Neal said.

"So we'll turn him. Get him to confess and give us everything he's got on Campollini," Peter said.

"And Organised Crime Division will take credit for all our hard work," Neal sighed.

"Justice isn't about brownie points, Neal," Peter replied.

"And what about me?" Neal asked.

"What about you?"

"Have you got anything more on the Adler case to get me off your bad books?" Neal looked at Peter with pleading eyes.

Peter took a deep breath before he nodded. "The security company monitoring the pier finally found and sent us their backup footage of what happened at the warehouse this morning. Jones had been going through it with the techs."

"And…?" Neal asked anxiously.

"A removalist's truck turned up at the pier at 3.15pm the day before the explosion. Two men unloaded a bunch of art pieces, paintings, sculptures, large and small, into the warehouse. It took them three hours to finish unloading. They then drove away. Nobody else went in or out of the warehouse between then and when we arrived."

"Did you identify the men?" Neal asked.

"Yes. They were Mike O'Connor and Adam McCarthy. They co-owned their moving business. They said they got a call that morning by a woman they'd never met offering them $3000 to do a quick job. The money was deposited electronically. Jones is still trying to trace its origin but so far has hit a dead end," Peter explained.

"So it was a woman…" Neal said, deep in thought. "Did the men wonder why this woman was offering so much money?"

"Are you kidding? $3000 for 3 hours' work? They were just happy to get the gig," Peter replied.

"So does this mean I'm innocent?" Neal asked nervously.

"It means you're not guilty," Peter answered. "I'm not sure how innocent you are yet."

* * *

><p>It was just a little after 7.15pm when cars started pulling into the parking lot at the back of St Bartholomew's Presbyterian Church in Brooklyn. Others arrived on foot. Separately and together, men and women of different ages and in varying fashion walked humbly into the Hall at the rear of the church.<p>

Once inside, people were milling about, some were quietly chatting with others they knew, while others stood by themselves, holding cups of coffee in their hands, looking nervously around the room, wondering if they would be recognised. There was a lectern at the front of the room and cheap fold-up chairs spread in rows.

At 7.30pm, a middle-aged man with hair greying at the temples, went to the lectern and called the gathering to order and invited visitors to sit down. Once everyone was seated, the man introduced himself briefly, then invited newcomers to stand up and introduce themselves. Nobody volunteered.

Finally, the man at the lectern pointed at a man sitting in the last row, squirming uncomfortably in his seat and said, "You, sir, why don't you come up here and tell us about yourself?"

The man at the back looked around the room, hoping he was not the one being singled out. The man at the front said, "Let's make our new friend feel welcome. Let's give him a round of applause!"

The room erupted with applause. Reluctantly, the 'volunteer' walked up to the front of the room.

The man at the lectern smiled and said in a friendly voice, "Why don't you start with your name? There's nothing to be afraid of. We're all the same here. We're all here because we have a gambling addiction and we want help."

"Hi," the 'volunteer' said slowly.

"Hi!" came the collective response from the room.

"My name is Dante Haversham and I'm a gambling addict!"

* * *

><p>"So, that's great news that Peter knows you're not responsible for the switch at the warehouse, right?" Stephanie said to Neal.<p>

They were sitting, back to back, stretched out on a rug in the middle of the floor of the secret room behind the library wall in Stephanie's penthouse. The room was wall to wall, floor to ceiling full of masterpieces collected by Stephanie's late husband, all of which had been reported stolen at one time or another. There was just one gap on the far wall where Raphael's _St George and the Dragon_ had once hung.

With Sofia, Stephanie's housekeeper, having the night off, Neal had cooked a BBQ on the terrace for dinner. The lights were dimmed as the two picnicked amongst the artworks.

"I'm off the hook for now, but Peter is never going to let it go until he finds out who did it and where the treasure disappeared to," Neal replied as he took a sip of the 2005 Chateau Mouton Rothschild from the late Ryan Harper's wine collection.

"Do you have any theories about who did it?" Stephanie asked.

"To be honest, my first instinct was Mozzie," Neal admitted.

"Mozzie? You think he could have done this all by himself?"

"Why not? Mozzie is capable of things you can't even begin to imagine," Neal laughed.

"I'm sure he is!" Stephanie agreed. "He has skills that are truly beyond human! Give him a cape and he could be Superman!"

"Or Thor. After all, he has an arsenal of hammers. Maybe one of them belongs to Thor!" Neal joked.

They laughed some more.

"Then I thought it might have been Alex," Neal said.

"Well, that would make sense seeing as how she had been looking for this treasure for probably as long as Vincent," Stephanie agreed.

"And I haven't been able to get hold of her. June said she had stopped by at the house after she heard about the explosion at the warehouse but I haven't been able to get in touch with her since," Neal continued.

"You think something's happened to her? Maybe she's disappeared with the treasure?" Stephanie asked.

"No. No, she didn't," Neal said.

Stephanie gave a puzzled look. As he was about to explain, his phone rang. He picked it up, "Hey Moz. What did you find out?" Neal turned around to Stephanie and mouthed the words, "_I'll be right back_" and left the room.

At the same time, Stephanie's phone also started buzzing. She took the call, "Hi, Peter. Don't you ever stop working?"

"Hey, Stevie. Is Neal with you?" Peter asked.

"Um, yeah, we just finished dinner," she replied. "What's up?"

"Can we meet at my house in half an hour? Diana has found the connection between the list of company names being paid by Creating Hope and Campollini," Peter said.

"OK. We'll be there," Stephanie said and hung up.

Neal had come back into the room by then.

"We need to go pay Peter a visit. They've got something on the Kerrigan case," Stephanie updated.

"Good because I've got something on Dominic Mason," Neal said with a conspiratorial smile.

* * *

><p>Jones, Diana, Peter, Neal and Stephanie were gathered around the Burke dining table.<p>

"The list Neal got from Dominic Mason had 33 names of companies that received cash payments from Creating Hope over the last three months," Diana began the briefing. "They ranged from cement suppliers, tilers, and architects to labour providers. It wasn't easy but we found the connection to Campollini for 19 of those companies. The payments were routed from New York to accounts in Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos, Fiji, Indonesia, Chile, Argentina, Spain, Italy and finally to Switzerland. Each of the accounts were opened under different company names. We checked with Interpol and found many of them on their watchlist."

"So why haven't Interpol done anything yet?" Neal asked.

"It looks like Creating Hope is only one tiny piece of the puzzle. Campollini isn't working alone on this. Those companies are just a small group within a large and intricate web of shell companies and a handful of them are legitimate businesses," Diana replied. "Sorting through which one is which is not as easy as it sounds."

"Interpol has been trying to link a series of crime families across the continents. Campollini is a small fish in a big pond of much larger fish they're trying to catch," Peter explained.

"You said only 19 out of the 33 companies could be linked to Campollini, what about the other 14?" Stephanie asked.

"We found six were local companies based right here in New York," Jones replied. "Four of them are legitimate businesses – a travel agent, a web designer, a printing company and an accounting firm."

"Let me guess, Dominic Mason and Associates Financial Advisory Services?" Neal said.

"The one and the same," Jones replied.

"And I bet the printing company is the one that printed those fancy brochures Kerrigan was handing out to potential donors," Stephanie chimed in.

"Yep," Diana confirmed.

"The other two local companies appear to be shell companies. They've had comparatively smaller amounts of activity going through them but we found them ending up in the Caymans in the names of Jade Cussons and Claire Mason," Jones added.

"Kerrigan's sister and Mason's wife?" Neal asked.

"Yep. The rest of the names appear to be legitimate payments to local builders and labourers, although, as you'd expect, payments through those accounts have been few and for very low amounts because of the cheap labour over there," Diana said.

"We don't have jurisdiction across international borders unless we work in co-operation with local federal authorities, so has our objective on this case changed now?" Stephanie asked. "Are we handing this over to Interpol or are we going to just try and shut down Creating Hope?"

"I talked to Hughes. As Stephanie said, with international borders being in question and some of these companies already being investigated by Interpol, he wants us to co-operate with them," Peter answered.

"So we've done all the leg-work and Interpol takes the credit?" Neal asked.

"What is it with you and scoring brownie points lately?" Peter asked, frowning at Neal.

"Maybe because I need a few under my belt?" Neal replied sheepishly.

"How do you want us to play this, Boss?" Diana asked.

"Our best chance is to flip Kerrigan and Mason, get them to co-operate with us and to give us everything they've got on their operations. Interpol will use what they have on Campollini and build up their case against the larger organisation," Peter said.

"How do we flip them?" Jones asked. "Kerrigan is already scared after Campollini murdered his mother. I'm sure he'd rather risk getting sprung by Interpol than to face the Mob."

"I've spoken to the Department of Justice and the US Marshals", Peter said. Neal groaned at the mention of the Marshals and received a stern look from Peter. "They're willing to take both Kerrigan and his sister into protective custody."

"What about Mason?" Stephanie asked. "Do we have enough on him to convince him to turn on the Mob? And do we even know he knows enough that DOJ would want to make a deal with him as well?"

Before anyone could answer, there was a knock at the door. The group looked at Peter with a _Who else were you expecting_ look. Peter shrugged. Elizabeth came down the stairs and was already at the door. She quickly checked through the glass and opened the door, "Mozzie!"

"Good evening, Mrs Suit," Mozzie said, handing her a single red rose with a kiss on her cheek.

Elizabeth smiled, "Thank you, Moz." Peter scowled. Elizabeth gave her husband a _be nice_ look as she took the flower into the kitchen to put into a vase and headed quietly back upstairs to leave the group to work.

Mozzie walked through the Burkes' living room into the dining room where the group was gathered and said, "I'm sorry I'm late. I was otherwise engaged in very important business."

"Why are you here, Moz?" Peter asked, looking puzzled.

"I asked him to come over," Neal replied for him.

The room turned to look at Neal. "He wanted to help," Neal shrugged as if he had no say in the matter.

"Where children and especially orphans are concerned, I feel it my duty and obligation to assist wherever possible!" Mozzie declared.

Peter looked at Neal then back at Mozzie, "And how exactly are you helping?"

"Dante Haversham has just attended his first Gamblers Anonymous meeting at St Bartholomew's," Mozzie replied.

"Were you giving them tips on how to cheat at parcheesi?" Diana asked.

"I don't cheat at Parcheesi!" Mozzie replied defensively.

"Focus, Moz! Focus!" Neal urged.

"You found out where Dominic Mason goes for his GA meetings?" Stephanie asked, attempting to get the conversation back on track.

"Yes, I did, 'Secret Suit'," Mozzie replied. Stephanie smiled at her nickname.

"What have you got, Moz?" Neal tried to move it along. He was quite sure Diana would not hesitate to take out her gun and put it to his friend's head if he didn't speak fast.

"Mr Mason, CPA, is such a bad gambler because he has no control over his impulses," Mozzie said. "I presented myself at the meeting as someone who has lost everything, my wife, my kids, my business, the usual drill. Basically, I was a version of him. At the end of the meeting, he came up to me and poured out his heart to me like we were long-lost friends."

"Did he tell you about Creating Hope?" Jones asked.

"There was no mention of the specific organisation but he did start spilling his guts out about how he owed money to some serious loan sharks who threatened his family and his livelihood," Mozzie said. "He started showing me scars the bad guys left him. I had to stop him before he started taking his clothes off!" Neal and Stephanie smiled at the image.

"Do you think Mason is pliable?" Peter asked Mozzie.

"I'm willing to bet he'd take any deal you offer him," Mozzie said. "Pun intended," he added with a smile.

Peter scowled again, then turned to Neal, "From what you saw when you met with Mason and Kerrigan, do you think Mason can provide all the financials for us to prosecute?"

"Mason's their one and only bookkeeper," Neal said. "I'm not sure he necessarily knows what happens to the money once he transfers it out of the country but as far as cooking the books here is concerned, he's definitely the one."

"OK, I'll talk to DOJ and the Marshals first thing in the morning and we'll get moving on working out a deal for Kerrigan and Mason," Peter said. "Once we've got them under our belt Interpol can take over."

Jones, Diana and Stephanie nodded in agreement.

"Great work everyone. We'll talk again in the office tomorrow," Peter dismissed the team. Everyone started to heading for the door except for Mozzie.

"That's it?" Mozzie asked. The group stopped and turned back around to look at him.

"What?" Peter asked.

"That's it? We don't get to stop the bad guys anymore? What about the orphans in Vietnam and Cambodia?" Mozzie asked.

"Don't forget Fr Samuel's kids in the Philippines," Neal chimed in.

Peter glared at both conmen, "That's enough. Both of you. Get out of my house!"

Neal took Mozzie by the arm, "C'mon Moz. Let's leave before he takes out his gun and shoots you!" He started to pull Mozzie towards the door.

"But I haven't said goodbye to Elizabeth yet!" Mozzie protested as Neal led him out. "Good night El!" he called out.

Elizabeth came down the stairs, "Good night, Mozzie. Thanks again for the rose!"

Stephanie was the last to leave. "It's a good outcome, Peter," she said.

"Well, I would've liked to have been able to take them all down but you're right. That's not our jurisdiction but at least the rich Manhattanites can sleep soundly knowing their money is safe," Peter said.

"Good night, Peter. You could do with the rest," Stephanie said as she stepped out the door.

Neal and Mozzie were waiting outside. Jones and Diana had already headed home.

They walked Stephanie to her car. Neal held her door open for her and said, "I'm going to walk home with Moz."

"You don't want a ride?" Stephanie offered.

"No, we're good," Neal answered.

Stephanie smiled, "I get it. Secret conmen's business. I'll talk to you tomorrow." She leant in and gave him a quick kiss. Then she turned to Mozzie and said, "Good work, Mozzie."

"Don't say that," Neal warned, a little too late. "He doesn't like that expression."

"Oh. My apologies. Good night Mozzie," Stephanie said, smiling.

The two men watched as she got in her car and drove off.

"Let's talk," Neal said.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Author's Note<strong>_

_The Raphael painting was anonymously returned to Sara Ellis of Sterling Bosch in my earlier fic "Crossing Paths" in order to stop her pursuit of Neal for its theft_


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6**

* * *

><p>"Have you found anything more about the typewriter?" Neal asked anxiously as he walked with Mozzie.<p>

"No one seems to know. For all we know, it could be something sitting in a museum," Mozzie said.

Neal stopped walking, "You think it's something in a museum?"

"I'm just saying it's a possibility," Mozzie said. The two resumed walking. "I checked out the private antique collectors I was able to find. There were only a couple of them who even had ribbons in them to show me what the print looks like."

"How did you get them to show you the print?" Neal asked.

"I just asked," Mozzie replied as if Neal had asked a ridiculous question.

"Do we know which museums might have this particular model typewriter?" Neal asked.

"There are only two in the United States. One is in Lancaster, California. The other is in Dallas, Texas," Mozzie replied.

"What about outside the US?"

"I'm afraid I have no information on that, my friend," Mozzie replied.

The two men walked on in silence as Neal contemplated what to do next.

"Maybe it's time to ask your lady friend," Mozzie suggested.

Neal stopped, shoved his hands into his pockets and looked at Mozzie but did not speak.

"She has connections and she can provide the best cover through her network in the Harper Group," Mozzie began. "You could suggest that she look into buying unusual and interesting items for the Harper Gallery to create an _American Retrospective _exhibition."

"Or I could just tell her why I want to know," Neal finally said.

"Or you could just tell her why you want to know," Mozzie repeated.

They started walking again. When they had reached June's house, Mozzie asked his friend, "Are you sure you trust her?"

"Yes," Neal replied.

* * *

><p>Once inside her car, Stephanie made a phone call.<p>

"I think we're close," Stephanie said.

"Has he asked the question?" the voice at the other end asked.

"Not quite," Stephanie replied. "But I think he will very soon."

"What makes you say that?" the voice asked.

"For the first time, Neal can't crack the code," she replied. "He wants answers. He's off the hook with the FBI for now but he knows Peter is not going to give up until he knows exactly what happened to the art. And now that we've wrapped this case that's been keeping Peter away from looking into the explosion, Neal knows his time is running out."

"OK," the voice said simply.

"Are you ready for what may come next?" she asked.

"I've been waiting for 30 years."

* * *

><p>Neal had spent the night tossing and turning in his bed. He checked the time on his phone. It blinked 3:42. It was too late to call Stephanie at this hour.<p>

He finally gave up trying to sleep and got out of bed. He took the note with the typewritten address of the storage room out of his pocket again and stared at it.

He wondered if "YOU'LL THANK ME" was supposed to be a secret message that he was meant to know.

Neal walked out onto the terrace, the cool air nipping at his bare skin. He stared out into the Manhattan skyline and wondered if this new life was just another version of the prison he had spent four years of his life in. _Of course not, Caffrey!_ The voice inside his head told him this was the life he had gone after when he met Mozzie, when he started working for Adler. It was the life he had dreamed of sharing with Kate.

But now Kate and Adler were gone. Mozzie was still the ever-loyal, ever-present friend, confidant and mentor that he needed.

Peter. The father he never had. The brother he never had. The epitome of good, if ever he'd seen one. He suddenly felt totally inadequate at having let Peter down far too often than he deserved.

Neal reminisced about all the crimes he had committed with Mozzie by his side. Then he thought about all the crimes he had solved by Peter's side. He could not imagine his life without either or both of them.

Last but not least, there was Stephanie. Like it or not, she had entered his life in a most unexpected way. Peter had wanted to know what their relationship was, not in an ex-boyfriend jealous way, but as a concerned friend to both. He was not sure he had quite figured it out himself yet. She had trusted him with secrets that even Peter did not know about; secrets that Peter **could never** know about or she would be on the fast-track to prison.

Neal watched the sun rise over the terrace. After a while, he checked the time again. 5:58. He quickly showered and got dressed.

He waited till 6:30 and picked up the phone. Stephanie picked up on the second ring, sounding a little sleepy, "Hey, I missed you last night."

"I'm sorry I didn't call," Neal said. "Can you meet me this morning?"

"Where are you taking me for breakfast?" she asked.

"I need you to meet me somewhere," he said.

"Oh?" Stephanie said with surprise. "OK, give me the address."

"77850 Ganesvoort St. I'll meet you in front of the building in half an hour."

"I'll be there."

Neal checked himself one more time in the mirror, picked up his fedora, made sure the key to the storage room was still in his pocket, and left.

* * *

><p>Neal held out a cup of coffee for Stephanie as she got out of her car.<p>

He gave her a quick kiss and said, "I'm sorry to get you out so early."

"It's OK," she replied. "I didn't sleep very well last night anyway."

Neal noticed she had not asked him why they were meeting there but he did not question her.

She followed as he walked ahead of her and led her to the door marked "UNIT A", inserted the key and walked inside.

He held the door for her and watched her expression carefully as he turned on the light to expose all the Nazi art that had been switched from Adler's warehouse at the pier.

"I see you don't look too surprised," Neal commented.

"No," she admitted, looking straight into his eyes.

"You did this," he said. It was a statement rather than a question.

"I had help," was her simple reply.

"Why?" was his first question.

Stephanie opened her bag, took out a thick file and handed it to Neal. He looked at the label on the cover with _**"N. CAFFREY"**_ written in large capital letters.

"Why do you have a file on me?" Neal asked.

"Open it," Stephanie said.

As Neal flicked through the file, he quickly realised this was not about him.

"This is about my father?" Neal asked.

"The reason you never found anything on him is because his records were sealed and he was in Witness Protection."

Neal suddenly felt weak at the knees and sat down.

"My father was a dirty cop," Neal said, matter-of-factly.

"Yes, he was. That was 30 years ago. He was a young man with a new family to support. He thought it would be easy money," Stephanie said. "How much do you know about your Dad?"

"I did some research. Found newspaper articles. I knew he was working for Tony Di Lorenzo, who ruled Hell's Kitchen back in the day. Racketeering, counterfeiting, general neighbourhood terrorism," Neal replied.

"That's what the papers reported and that's what was recorded in his official NYPD personnel file," Stephanie explained.

Neal looked puzzled.

Stephanie sat down next to Neal and took his hand in hers. "Your Dad was a good man who made the wrong choice and paid a high price for it. When he realised what he had done and how many people he had hurt he decided to turn on Di Lorenzo. He walked into the FBI's Organised Crime Division and dropped a pile of seriously incriminating evidence against Di Lorenzo in their lap, all of which resulted in his eventual conviction. Your Dad was ready to testify against Di Lorenzo."

"I don't understand…why didn't the FBI protect him? They had to know his life would be in danger if he was going to testify against a crime boss! The reports said Dad died in a hail of gunfire when the cops caught him?" Neal said.

"That's what everyone was supposed to believe. That's how the FBI reported it," Stephanie replied.

"So there was no gunfire?" Neal asked.

"Oh, there was gunfire and according to FBI reports, Nicholas Caffrey died on the operating table. He sustained major injuries and was operated on but as soon as he came out of recovery, the US Marshals took him into custody, gave him a whole new identity, and hid him in a safe house until he was fit to travel."

"Where did they send him?" Neal asked.

"Oregon," Stephanie replied.

"If they gave him a new identity, how do you know all this?"

"Because your Dad and mine were partners," Stephanie said.

Neal's jaw dropped with surprise.

"My Dad never believed that your Dad was dead. He knew the FBI had offered to put him, you and your Mom into protective custody but he had refused. Even as they lowered Nicholas Caffrey's coffin into the ground, my Dad was convinced he was alive somewhere. They had made a pact to look after each other's family should anything happen to either of them but shortly after your Dad supposedly died, your Mom took you away. My Dad did everything he could to make sure you didn't get into trouble," Stephanie said.

"I'm sorry," Neal apologised regretfully. "I didn't mean to make it such a tough job."

"Well, I think he called in every favour he ever earned with every cop he'd ever met to try and keep you out of prison for as long as he could," Stephanie said. "He spent the rest of his life looking for Nicholas and he gave me this file just before he died. He never found him but he made me promise to keep looking and to look out for you."

Neal was trying to process all this new information and suddenly pulled his hand away from Stephanie's. "How long have you known this? Is this why you got close to me?" he demanded, as he flashed back to every intimate moment he had shared with the woman sitting in front of him.

"When the FBI offered me this job after Dad died, I realised it was the perfect cover for me to find your Dad. I had no idea what I would do if I ever found him or how I was supposed to look out for you," Stephanie said.

Neal stood up and began pacing the room as his own history was being laid out in front of him.

"I tried for years to look for you, your Mom and your Dad without luck, until you turned up at Adler's doorstep. I couldn't believe it. But there was little I could do when I realised why you were there. I had to let your con play out to protect myself, and Ryan," Stephanie continued.

Neal finally stopped pacing. "OK…but you still haven't answered my question. Is this why you got close to me?" he repeated the question.

"No," she replied simply.

"I don't believe you," Neal raised his voice.

"I'm not lying to you, Neal. I've always answered every question you've ever asked."

"But you've never told me the whole truth either," Neal accused.

"Isn't that what cons like us do?" Stephanie asked. "I've been watching you for years but I never really **knew** you until we met a couple of months ago. You and I have always had much more in common than you realised. I couldn't tell you all this until I knew you trusted me enough to tell **me **the whole truth – that you had the treasure the whole time."

"You figure this is how you get me to trust you?" Neal asked, feelings of betrayal starting to run through his mind.

"Neal, it might not seem that way to you but I've had to give up everything in my life to keep my promise to my father so that he can keep his to yours," Stephanie explained. "I could have said no to the FBI when Bancroft recruited me in college. I could have married Peter and had the kind of life with him that he has with Elizabeth. Instead, I lied to the only man who ever truly loved me and rejected him, married a thief and living with his cache of stolen art that I don't know what to do with, and had an affair with a man who tried to kill you. Neal, I have no way out of this life. I made my choice nearly 20 years ago and this is what it all comes down to: you."

There was a long silence as Neal tried to process all this.

"Does Peter know about my father?" Neal finally asked.

"No. Not yet. It's not my call to make," Stephanie replied.

"Is my father still alive?" Neal asked.

"Yes," came the simple reply.

"Do you know where he is?" Neal felt the sudden rush of adrenaline coursing through him.

"Yes," again came the reply.

"How did you find him?" Neal asked.

"Actually, he found me, through June and Byron," Stephanie replied.

The shock on Neal's face was apparent. "**June**?"

"They met years ago in Atlanta. I believe Byron was trying to pull a fast one at the casino and your Dad caught him but he didn't report him. They talked, became friends and your Dad asked them to find you. The web of cops and robbers are far more intricately linked than you'd think," Stephanie said.

"Are you telling me that meeting June at the thrift store when I was released from prison was no accident?" Neal asked, somewhat disbelieving.

"There are no coincidences or accidents in life, Neal, you've had angels looking out for you all your life. You just didn't know it."

"What about Mozzie?" Neal was suddenly wondering if there was ever anyone he crossed paths with who'd be sent there to help and guide him.

"Well, Mozzie is one of a kind," Stephanie said, letting a slight smile escape her lips. "He was nobody's plant. But I'm sure if you two hadn't met, your Dad would have somehow managed to make sure you did."

Neal stared at Stephanie for a long time. Finally, he asked, "What now?"

"Now?" Stephanie replied as she stepped closer to Neal. "Now you have to choose."

"Choose what?" Neal asked.

"Now you have to choose a side. Are you going to tell Peter the truth or are you going to find your Dad and run away with the treasure?"

_**~The End ~**_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Final Author's Note:<strong>_

_I'd like to dedicate this story to my "WCHBO" crew…you know who you are. It should come as no surprise if you saw your first or middle name mentioned at some point in the story. There are other mentions of places that may also be familiar to you – you know who you are! The steam room scene is for you! _

_A reminder that I wrote and completed this particular story prior to watching the Season 3 premiere and that this story is purely representative of what I thought happened to the treasures, who was responsible for stealing them and why._

_Since writing my first fanfic "Crossing Paths" last year, I had wanted to include some mention of Stephanie holding a key to Neal's past with regards to his father. However, at the time, I simply had no idea how it would fit and the idea was shelved. When Under the Radar aired and the treasures disappeared, I had the idea that perhaps Neal's father wasn't dead and had been responsible for switching the art. I don't think this is what actually happened but it just fitted with my version of events _

_The talents of the White Collar writers give me such inspiration everyday and I applaud the work that they do. I hope I have done justice to the characters that they have created. If at any point while reading this story you felt you could almost see Matt Bomer or Tim DeKay acting out these scenes, then I feel I have done my job. The talents of these two, along with Willie Garson, know no bounds._

_As always a very big thank you to my Tweetpea, Claire, for beta'ing my stories to make sure all the commas, fullstops and apostrophes are in the right places, even if she may get distracted by the naked/shirtless Neal scenes on the odd occasion! This one was a particularly "war and peace" story to beta and I thank her for her patience and dedication!_


End file.
